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THE  ELDEST   SON 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

- 

THE  HOUSE  OF  MERKILEES 

RICHARD  BALDOCK 

BXTON  MANOR 

THE  SQUIRE  S  DAUGHTER 

THE  ELDEST  SON 

THE  HONOUR  OP  THE  CLINTONS 

THE  GREATEST  OF  THESE 

THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETB 

WATERMEIDS 

UPSIDONLA 

ABINGTON  ABBEY 

THE  GRAFTONS 

THE  CLINTONS,  AND  OTHERS 

Sm  HARRY 


THE    ELDEST    SON 


BY 
ARCHIBALD   MARSHALL 

Author  of  "  Exton  Manor" 


NEW  YORK 
DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 
1919 


COPTRIOHT,  1911,  BT 

DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 
Published  September,  1911 


To 

KATHLEEN 


4GG558 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  The  Squire  Is  Infernally  Worried  1 

II  A  Question  of  Matrimony        .          .  10 

III  Exit  Miss  Bird         ....  19 

IV  The  Dower-house  .          .          .          .30 
V  Lady  George 44 

VI  Blaythorn  Rectory         ...  66 

VII  The  Squire  Puts  His  Foot  Down       .  66 

VIII  The   Squire   Feels   Trouble   Coming  78 

IX  Dick  Pays  a  Sunday  Visit          .           .  90 

X  The  Meet  at  Apthorpe  Common        .  102 

XI  Dick  Leaves  Kencote  and  Makes  a 

Discovery    .....  115 

XII  The  House  Party  ....  127 

XIII  The  Hunt  Ball     .  .  .  .137 

XIV  A  Shoot 150 

XV  The  Guns  and  the  Ladies         .          .  162 

XVI  The  Money  Question       .          .          .  176 

XVII  Sunday  and  Monday         .          .           .  188 

XVIII  Mrs.    Clinton    Chooses   a   Governess  202 

XIX  Mrs.  Clinton  in  Jermyn  Street       .  215 

vii 


Vlll 

U  U  JN  T  E  N  T  S 

CHAPTER 

PAGE 

XX 

Aunt  Laura  Intervenes 

.     229 

XXI 

An  Engagement    .,         (.,         ,.■         ^ 

.     247 

XXII 

Dick   Comes   Home 

.     258 

XXIII 

Humphrey  Counts  His  Chickens    . 

273 

XXIV 

Virginia  Goes  to  Kencote 

.     287 

XXV 

A  Lawn  Meet       ,.,         ,.^ 

.     305 

XXVI 

What  Miss  Phipp  Saw  .          i. 

.     319 

XXVII 

The  Run  of  the  Season         ,.,         , 

.     328 

XXVIII 

Property      .           .;          .1         [. 

,    339 

XXIX 

Brothers       .          .          .          ,.,         « 

351 

XXX 

Miss  Bird  Hears  All  About  It 

363 

CHAPTER  I 

THE    SQUIRE     IS    INFERNALLY    WORRIED 

"  Nina,"  said  the  Squire,  "  I'm  most  infernally  wor- 
ried." He  was  sitting  in  his  wife's  morning-room,  in  a 
low  chair  by  the  fire.  In  front  of  him  was  a  table  set 
for  tea  for  one — himself.  There  were  buttered  toast 
and  dry  toast  and  preserves,  a  massive  silver  teapot, 
milk  jug,  cream  jug,  and  sugar  basin,  a  breakfast  cup 
of  China  tea,  and  two  boiled  eggs,  one  of  which  he  was 
attacking,  sitting  forward  in  his  chair  with  his  legs 
bent.  He  had  come  in  from  hunting  a  few  minutes  be- 
fore, at  about  six  o'clock,  and  it  was  his  habit  thus  to 
consume  viands  which  most  men  of  his  age  and  bulk 
might  have  been  afraid  of,  as  likely  to  spoil  their  din- 
ner. But  he  was  an  active  man,  in  spite  of  his  fifty- 
nine  years  and  his  tendency  to  put  on  flesh,  and  it 
would  have  taken  more  than  a  tea  that  was  almost  a 
meal  to  reduce  his  appetite  for  dinner  at  eight,  after  a 
day  in  the  saddle  and  a  lunch  off  sandwiches  and  a  flask 
of  sherry.  When  his  tea  was  over  he  would  indulge 
himself  in  half  an  hour's  nap,  with  the  Times  open  at  the 
leader  page  on  his  knee,  and  go  up  to  dress,  feeling  every 
inch  of  him  a  sportsman  and  an  English  country  gen- 
tleman. 

His  tea  was  generally  brought  to  him  in  his  library. 
This  evening  a  footman  had  followed  him  into  that  room 
immediately  upon  his  entering  the  house,  as  usual,  had 
unbuckled  his  spurs,  pulled  off  his  boots  for  him,  and 
put  on  in  their  place  a  pair  of  velvet  slippers  worked  in 
silk,  which  had  been  warming  in  front  of  the  fire.  Only 
when  his  coat  was  wet  or  much  splashed  with  mud  did 
the  Squire  change  that.    He  considered  smoking- jackets 


2  THE    ELDEST    SON 

rather  effeminate,  and  slippers,  on  ordinary  occasions, 
"  sloppy."  It  was  only  in  his  dressing-room  or  on  these 
evenings  after  hunting  that  he  wore  them.  Otherwise, 
if  he  had  to  change  his  boots  during  the  daytime  he  put 
on  another  pair.  He  was  particular  on  little  points  like 
this.  All  his  rules  were  kept  precisely,  by  himself  and 
those  about  him. 

This  evening  he  had  told  the  footman,  and  the  butler 
who  had  followed  him  into  the  room  with  the  tray,  that 
he  would  have  his  tea  in  Mrs.  Clinton's  room,  and  he 
had  marched  across  the  hall  with  a  firm  and  decisive 
step,  in  his  red  coat  and  buckskin  breeches,  between 
which  and  his  hand-knitted  heather-mixture  socks 
showed  a  white  expanse  of  under-drawers  round  a  mus- 
cular calf. 

Mrs.  Clinton  sat  opposite  to  him  in  another  low  chair, 
at  work  on  a  woollen  waistcoat.  He  always  wore  waist- 
coats made  by  her,  thick  for  the  winter,  light  for  the  sum- 
mer, and  she  knitted  his  socks  for  him,  of  which  he  re- 
quired a  large  number,  for  he  hated  them  to  be  darned.  He 
liked  to  see  her  working  for  him  like  this.  He  was  a  rich 
man,  but  a  woman  ought  to  work  with  her  hands  for  her 
husband,  whether  he  was  rich  or  poor.  It  was  her  wifely 
duty,  and  incidentally  it  kept  her  out  of  mischief.  Mrs. 
Clinton,  at  the  age  of  fifty-four,  with  her  smooth  yellow- 
grey  hair  and  her  quiet  and  composed  face,  did  not  look 
as  if  she  would  be  up  to  serious  mischief,  even  if  this  and 
other  restrictions  were  removed  from  her.  She  looked 
up  when  her  husband  addressed  her,  and  marked  the 
furrow  between  his  heavy  eyebrows.  Then  she  looked 
down  again  at  her  work  and  waited  for  him  to  unbosom 
himself  further. 

"  How  old  is  Dick?  "  asked  the  Squire,  leaning  for- 
ward to  put  a  spoonful  of  yolk  of  egg  into  his  mouth 
with  one  hand,  while  he  shielded  his  grey  beard  with  the 
other. 

She  knew  then  the  subject  upon  which  he  had  ex- 


THE    SQUIRE    IS   WORRIED  3 

pressed  himself  as  infernally  worried,  for  he  was  not 
accustomed  to  keep  the  first  stirrings  of  discontent  to 
himself. 

"  He  was  thirty-four  last  April,"  she  said. 

"  Thirty-four,"  he  repeated.  "  Yes ;  and  I  was 
twenty-four  when  I  married  you.  That's  early.  I 
shouldn't  advise  any  young  man  to  marry  at  that  age, 
unless,  perhaps,  he  was  the  only  one  to  keep  a  name 
going — as  I  was,  of  course — at  least  in  my  immediate 
family.  But  thirty-four !  It's  really  time  Dick  thought 
about  it.  He's  the  eldest  son.  It's  his  duty.  And  as 
far  as  I  can  see  he  never  gives  the  matter  a  thought. 
Eh.?" 

"  As  far  as  I  can  see  he  is  not  thinking  about  it," 
said  Mrs.  Clinton. 

"  Well,  if  /  couldn't  see  you  couldn't  see.  I  say  it 
is  time  that  he  did  begin  thinking  about  it.  I'm  getting 
on  now — good  for  another  twenty  years,  I  should  hope, 
but  I  want  to  see  the  succession  assured.  Walter  is 
the  only  one  of  the  boys  that's  married,  and  he's  only 
got  two  girls.  Of  course,  he  may  have  a  son — they're 
coming  pretty  quick — but  I've  never  got  over  that 
doctoring  business.  I  shouldn't  like  the  heir  of  Ken- 
cote  to  be  brought  up  in  a  place  like  Melbury  Park,  and 
I  say  so  freely — to  you." 

This  was  the  echo  of  an  old  disturbance.  The 
Squire's  third  son  had  refused  to  take  Orders,  with  a 
view  of  occupying  the  family  living,  but  had  studied 
medicine,  and  was  now  practising  in  a  suburb  of  Lon- 
don, and  not  one  of  the  most  genteel  suburbs  either. 
That  furrow  always  appeared  faintly  in  the  Squire's 
brow  when  he  was  forced  to  mention  the  distastefui 
words  Melbury  Park. 

"  I  think  it  would  be  a  good  thing  if  Dick  were  to 
marry,"  said  Mrs.  Clinton. 

"  Good  thing.?  Of  course  it  would  be  a  good  thing. 
That's  just  what  I'm  saying.     There's  Humphrey;  he^ 


4  THE   ELDEST   SON 

doesn't  look  much  like  marrying,  either.  In  fact,  if 
he  doesn't  pick  up  a  wife  with  a  pot  of  money,  I'd 
rather  he  didn't.  He  spends  quite  enough  as  it  is. 
I've  no  opinion  of  that  London  life,  except  for  a  bit 
when  a  man's  young  and  before  he  settles  down.  Dick 
has  been  in  the  Guards  now  for — what? — twelve  years. 
I  never  meant  that  he  should  take  up  soldiering  as  a 
profession.  Just  a  few  years  spent  with  a  good  regi- 
ment— as  I  had  myself,  in  the  Blues — that's  all  right 
for  a  young  fellow  who  has  a  good  property  to  suc- 
ceed to.  But  an  eldest  son  ought  to  settle  down,  on 
the  property,  and  get  married,  and  have  sons  to  succeed 
Aim." 

"  Dick  comes  here  a  good  deal,"  said  Mrs.  Clinton, 
"  and  he  takes  an  interest  in  the  property." 

"  Well,  I  should  hope  he  did,"  responded  the  Squire. 
"  The  property  will  belong  to  him  when  my  time's  over. 
What  do  you  mean  .^  " 

"  I  only  mean  that  Dick  is  not  wrapped  up  in  Lon- 
don life  and  all  that  goes  with  it,  as  Humphrey  seems 
to  be." 

"  Oh,  Humphrey !  I've  no  patience  with  Humphrey. 
If  Kencote  isn't  good  enough  for  him  let  him  stay 
away.  Only  I  won't  pay  any  more  bills  for  him.  He 
has  a  good  allowance  and  he  must  keep  within  it.  I've 
told  him  so.  Now  if  I'd  put  him  into  the  army,  instead 
of  the  Foreign  Office,  he  might  have  stuck  to  it  and 
made  a  profession  of  it.  I  wish  I  had — into  a  working 
regiment.  It  would  have  done  him  all  the  good  in  the 
world.  However,  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  Humphrey. 
I  don't  expect  an  heir  to  come  from  him;  and  Frank 
is  too  young  to  marry  yet.  Besides — a  sailor !  It's 
better  for  him  to  marry  later.  Dick  ought  to  marry, 
and  there's  an  end  of  it.  And  when  he  comes  down  to- 
morrow I  shall  tell  him  so." 

Mrs.  Clinton  made  no  immediate  reply,  but  after  a 
pause,  during   which   the   Squire   came   to  the   end  of 


THE    SQUIRE    IS    WORRIED  5 

his  eggs  and  began  to  attack  the  buttered  toast,  she 
said,  "  I  have  to  tell  you  something,  Edward,  which  I 
am  afraid  will  disturb  you." 

"  Besides,"  pursued  the  Squire  in  his  loud,  resolute 
voice,  "  there's  the  dower-house  standing  empty  now. 
If  Dick  were  to  get  married  soon  I  need  not  bother 
about  finding  a  tenant  for  it.  I  don't  zcant  to  let  it; 
it's  too  near  here.  If  we  got  people  there  we  didn't 
like  it  would  be  an  infernal  nuisance.  Eh,  Nina?  What 
were  you  saying  ?  " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,"  said  Mrs.  Clinton,  "  that  Miss 
Bird  is  going  to  leave  us." 

The  Squire  was  just  about  to  put  a  piece  of  toast 
into  his  mouth,  which  was  half  open  for  its  reception. 
It  remained  half  open  while  he  looked  at  his  wife,  the 
toast  arrested  halfway.  "Miss  Bird!  Leave  us!"  he 
exclaimed  when  he  had  found  his  voice.  He  could 
hardly  have  been  more  astounded  if  his  wife  had  an- 
nounced that  she  was  going  to  leave  him,  and  indeed 
Miss  Bird  had  lived  at  Kencote  nearly  as  long  as  Mrs. 
Clinton,  and  had  initiated  into  the  mysteries  of  learning 
all  the  young  Clintons,  from  Dick,  who  was  now  thirty- 
four,  down  to  the  twins,  Joan  and  Nancy,  w^ho  were 
fifteen. 

"  She  has  talked  about  it  for  some  time,"  said  Mrs. 
Clinton.  "  She  has  felt  that  the  children  were  getting 
beyond  her,  and  ought  to  have  better  teaching  than  she 
can  give  them." 

"  Oh,  stuff  and  nonsense !  "  exclaimed  the  Squire.  "  I 
don't  want  the  children  turned  into  blue-stockings. 
I'm  quite  satisfied  with  what  Miss  Bird  is  doing  for 
them,  and  if  she  wants  telling  so,  for  goodness' 
sake  tell  her,  and  let's  have  no  more  of  such  rubbish. 
Miss  Bird  indeed!  Who's  she  to  upset  the  whole 
house.'*  " 

"  I  am  iaf  raid  she  has  determined  to  go,  Edward," 
saicj  Mrs.  Clinton  in  her  ecjuable  voice,     ^'  Her  invalid 


IB  THE    ELDEST   SON 

sister,  you  know,  has  lost  her  husband,  and  there  is  no 
one  else  to   look   after   her." 

The  Squire  grunted.  "  Well,  if  that's  the  reason," 
he  said,  rather  grudgingly,  "  I  suppose  we  can't  com- 
plain, although  it's  a  most  infernal  nuisance.  I've  got 
used  to  Miss  Bird.  She's  a  silly  old  creature  in  some 
respects,  but  she's  faithful  and  honest.  Now  we  shall 
have  to  get  used  to  somebody  else.  Really,  when  one 
thing  goes  wrong,  everything  goes  wrong.  Life  is 
hardly  worth  living  with  all  these  worries.  One  never 
seems  to  get  a  moment's  peace.  I'm  going  into  my  room 
now,  Nina,  to  read  the  paper  for  a  bit." 

"  I  should  like  to  talk  to  you  for  a  few  minutes  longer 
about  the  children,"  said  Mrs.  Clinton.  "  As  a  change 
has  to  be  made,  I  want  to  make  a  thorough  one.  It 
is  quite  true  that  they  are  beyond  Miss  Bird,  even 
if  she  could  have  stayed.  I  should  like  to  send  them 
to  a  good  school  for  two  or  three  years,  and  then  to 
France  or  Germany  for  a  year." 

The  Squire  bent  his  brows  in  an  amazed  frown. 
"  What  on  earth  can  you  be  thinking  of,  Nina  ?  "  he 
exclaimed.  "  France  or  Germany  ?  Nice  healthy  Eng- 
lish girls — teach  'em  to  eat  frogs  and  horse-sausage — 
pick  up  a  lot  of  affected  nonsense !  You  can  put  that 
idea  out  of  your  head  at  once." 

Mrs.  Clinton's  calm  face  flushed.  "  There  is  no  need 
to  talk  of  that  for  two  or  three  years,"  she  said.  "  I 
should  like  them  now — when  Miss  Bird  leaves  us — to 
go  to  a  really  good  school  in  England,  where  they  can 
learn  something." 

"  Learn  something  ?  What  do  you  mean — learn 
something.'^  Haven't  they  been  learning  something  all 
their  lives — at  least  since  Miss  Bird  began  to  teach 
them.'^  What  does  a  girl  want  to  learn,  except  how 
to  read  and  write  a  good  hand  and  add  up  accounts.'* 
I  don't  want  any  spectacled,  short-haired,  flat-chested 
females  in  my  house,  thank  you.     The  children  are  very 


THE    SQUIRE    IS   WORRIED  7 

well  as  they  are.  They're  naughty  sometimes,  I've  no 
doubt,  but  they're  good  gh'ls  on  the  whole.  Girls 
ought  to  be  brought  up  at  home  under  their  mother's 
eye.  I  can't  think  what  you  want  to  send  them  away 
from  you  for,  Nina.  It  isn't  like  you.  I  should  have 
thought  you  would  have  missed  them.  I  know  /  should, 
and  they're  not  going  to  school." 

"  I  should  miss  them  very  much,"  said  Mrs.  Clinton. 

"  Very  well,  then,  let  them  stop  at  home.  It's  quite 
simple." 

Mrs.  Clinton  was  silent,  bending  her  head  over  her 
work. 

"  You  would  miss  them  and  /  should  miss  them," 
pursued  the  Squire,  after  a  pause.  "  No,  there's  no 
sense  in  it." 

There  was  another  pause,  and  then  the  Squire  asked, 
"Why  do  you  want  to  send  them  to  school .?  " 

Mrs.  Clinton  laid  down  her  work  and  looked  at  him. 
"  I  should  be  satisfied,"  she  said,  "  if  they  could  get 
the  teaching  they  ought  to  have  at  home.  Perhaps  I 
should  prefer  it.  But  it  would  mean  a  first-class  gov- 
erness living  here,  and " 

"  Well,  there's  no  objection  to  that,"  interrupted  the 
Squire.  "  I  dare  say  old  Miss  Bird  is  a  little  out  of 
date.  Get  a  good  governess  by  all  means ;  only  not  a 
blue-stocking,  mind  you." 

Mrs.  Clinton  smiled.  "  I'm  afraid  she  would  have  to 
be  what  you  would  call  a  blue-stocking,"  she  said.  "  But 
she  needn't  show  it.  Clever  girls  don't  wear  spectacles 
and  short  hair  necessarily  nowadays." 

"  Oh,  don't  they?  "  said  the  Squire  good-humouredly. 
He  was  leaning  back  in  his  chair  now,  looking  at  the 
fire.     "  How  are  you  going  to  set  about  getting  one?  " 

"  I  should  ask  Emmeline  to  help  me."  Emmeline 
was  Lady  Birkett,  the  wife  of  Mrs.  Clinton's  brother, 
the  judge. 

"  Not  a  bad  idea,"  said  the  Squire.     **  But  I  won't 


8  THE   ELDEST   SON 

have  any  of  your  suffragettes.    Herbert  is  a  very  good 
fellow,  but  he's  a  most  pestilent  Radical." 

"  You  would  let  me  offer  a  good  salary,  I  suppose." 

"  What  do  we  pay  Miss  Bird.?  " 

"  Only  thirty  pounds  a  year.  She  has  never  asked 
for  more." 

"  She's  a  good  old  creature.  I'm  sorry  for  her  sis- 
ter.    Is  she  well  off,  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  very  badly  off." 

"  Then  how  will  they  get  on  ?  I  suppose  Miss  Bird 
has  saved  a  bit.  She's  had  no  expenses  here  except  her 
clothes  for  many  years." 

"  She  told  me  she  had  saved  about  four  hundred 
pounds." 

"  Has  she  ?  Out  of  thirty  pounds  a  year !  It's  ex- 
traordinary. Still,  that  won't  give  her  much,  capi- 
talised, poor  old  creature.  I'll  tell  you  what,  Nina,  I'll 
talk  it  over  with  Dick  and  see  if  we  can't  fix  up  a  httle 
annuity  for  her.  She's  served  us  well  and  faithfully 
all  these  years,  and  we  ought  to  do  something  for  her." 

"  Oh,  Edward,  I  am  so  glad,"  said  Mrs.  Clinton. 
"  I  hoped  you  might  see  your  way  to  helping  her.  She 
will  be  so  very  grateful." 

The  Squire  lifted  himself  out  of  his  chair.  "  Oh 
yes,  we'll  do  something  or  other,"  he  said.  "  Well,  get 
another  governess  then,  Nina,  and  pay  her — what  do 
you  want  to  pay  her.? — forty.?  " 

Mrs.  Clinton  hesitated  a  moment.  "  I  want  to  get 
the  best  I  can,"  she  said.  "  I  want  to  pay  her  eighty 
at  least." 

The  Squire,  in  his  moods  of  good  humour,  was  proof 
against  all  annoyance  over  other  people's  follies.  He 
laughed.  "  Oh,  I  should  make  it  a  hundred  if  I  were 
you,"  he  said. 

"  When  the  boys  had  Mr.  Blake  in  their  holidays," 
said  Mrs.  Clinton,  "  he  had  five  pounds  a  week,  and 
only  had  to  teach  them  for  an  hour  a  day." 


THE    SQUIRE   IS   WORRIED  9 

"  That's  a  very  different  thing,"  said  the  Squire. 
"  Blake  was  a  University  man  and  a  gentleman.  You 
have  to  pay  a  private  tutor  well." 

"  I  want  to  get  a  lady,"  said  Mrs.  Clinton,  "  and  I 
should  like  one  who  had  been  to  a  University." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  girl,"  said  the  Squire,  moving  off 
down  the  room,  "  have  it  your  own  way  and  pay  her 
what  you  like.  Now  is  there  anything  else  I  can  do 
for  you  before  I  go  and  write  a  few  letters.'^  " 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Edward,  in  letting  me  have  my 
way  about  this.  There  is  one  more  thing.  If  the 
children  went  to  school  they  would  have  extra  lessons 
for  music  and  drawing  or  anything  else  that  they  might 
show  talent  in.  Joan  and  Nancy  have  both  got  talent. 
I  want  to  be  able  to  have  masters  for  them,  from  Bath- 
gate— or  perhaps  even  from  London — for  anything 
special  that  their  governess  cannot  teach  them." 

The  Squire  was  at  the  door.  "  Well,  upon  my 
word ! "  he  said,  nodding  his  head  at  her.  Then  he 
went  out  of  the  room. 


CHAPTER  II 

A    aUESTION    OF    MATRIMONY 

Dick  Clinton,  the  eldest  son,  arrived  at  Kencote  at 
a  quarter  to  eight,  and  went  straight  up  to  his  room 
to  dress.  This  young  man — for,  with  his  spare,  up- 
right frame,  sleek  head,  and  well-fitting  clothes,  he 
looked  less  than  his  thirty-four  years — was  as  well 
served  as  his  father,  although  he  did  not  get  his  will 
by  the  same  means;  and  the  little  wrongs  of  life,  each 
of  which  the  Squire,  as  they  came  along,  dealt  with  as 
"  a  most  infernal  nuisance,"  he  took  more  equably.  He 
had  brought  his  own  servant  with  him,  but  had  no  need 
of  him  for  the  time,  for  his  evening  clothes  were  laid 
out  for  him,  his  shirt,  with  studs  in  and  a  collar  at- 
tached, was  hung  over  the  back  of  a  chair  in  front  of 
the  piled-up  fire,  and  he  had  only  to  slip  out  of  one 
suit  and  into  another  as  if  he  had  been  in  the  house 
all  day  instead  of  having  just  reached  the  end  of  a 
journey  of  over  three  hours.  These  things  were  all  a 
matter  of  course  to  him.  The  warm  bright  room,  red- 
curtained,  and  quiet  from  the  deep  stillness  of  the  coun- 
try, gave  him  no  particular  sensation  of  pleasure  when 
he  entered  it,  except  that  he  was  cold  from  his  journey 
and  there  was  a  good  fire ;  nor,  consciously,  did  the  fact 
that  this  was  his  home,  which  he  liked  better  than  any 
other  place,  although  he  was  more  often  than  not  away 
from  it.  He  was  thinking,  as  he  began  immediately  in 
his  quick  neat  way  to  change  his  clothes,  that  there 
was  no  apparent  sign  of  the  frost  yielding,  and  fighting 
off  his  annoyance — for  he  hated  to  feel  annoyed — at 
the  stoppage  of  the  morrow's  hunting.     He  had  verj 

10 


A   QUESTION    OF   MATRIMONY     11 

much  wanted  to   hunt   on   the   morrow,   more   than   he 
usually  wanted  anything. 

And  yet  he  was,  though  he  hardly  knew  it,  pleased 
to  be  at  home,  and  in  this  room,  which  had  been  his 
ever  since  he  had  left  the  nursery.     The  little  iron  bed- 
stead was  the  one  on  which  he  had  slept  as  a  boy;  the 
flat  tin  bath,  standing  against  a  wall  with  the  bath-mat 
hung  over  it,  was  only  rather  the  worse  for  wear  since 
those  days;  the  worn  carpet,  now  more  worn,  was  the 
same;  and  the  nondescript  paper  on  the  walls,  which 
were  hung  with  photographs  of  his  "  house  "  at  Eton, 
showing  him  amongst  the  rest  in  five  stages,  from  the 
little  fair-haired  boy  in  his  broad  collar  sitting  cross- 
legged  on  the  grass,  to  the  young  man  with  folded  arms 
in  a  place  of  honour  by  his  tutor.     There  were  later 
Cambridge  groups  too,  exhibiting  him  as  Master  of  the 
Drag,  in  the  eighteenth-century  dress  of  the  True  Blue 
Club,  and  in  other  conjunctures  of  pursuits  and  com- 
panions, but  nothing  to  mark  a  later  date  than  his  Uni- 
versity  days,   unless   it   were   the  big  photographs   in 
silver  or  tortoise-shell  frames  on  the  mantelpiece  and 
writing-table.      Probably   nothing   had   been    added   to 
the  decoration  of  the  room  for  a  dozen  years,  only  a 
few  things   for  use — a  larger  wardrobe  and  dressing- 
table  from  another  room  in  the  house,  a  big  easy-chair, 
a  fur  rug  by  the  bed.     The  room  contained  everything 
he  needed  in  such  a  room,  and  since  he  needed  nothing 
there   to   please   the   eye,   it   had   received  nothing  all 
these  years,  and  would  receive  nothing  until  he  should 
leave  it  for  good,  when  he  should  be  no  longer  the  eldest 
son,  but  in  his  turn  the  head  of  the  house. 

He  had  nearly  finished  dressing  when  there  was  a 
knock  at  the  door,  and  a  voice,  "  Are  you  there,  Dick  ? 
Can  we  come  in?  " 

His  rather  expressionless  face  changed  a  little,  pleas- 
antly. "  Yes,  come  along,"  he  called  out,  and  his  young 
sisters  came  in  in  their  fresh  muslin  frocks,  their  masses 


U  THE   ELDEST  SON 

of  fair  hair  tied  back  with  big  blue  ribbons.  They  had 
that  prim  air  of  being  dressed,  which  is  different  in  the 
case  of  girls  not  quite  grown  up  from  that  of  their 
elder  sisters.  They  were  remarkably  alike  and  remark- 
ably pretty,  and  Dick,  who  stood  at  the  dressing-table 
in  his  shirt  sleeves  tying  his  tie,  although  he  did  not 
turn  round  to  greet  them,  noticed  their  appearance 
with  approval  through  the  glass. 

"  Well,  Twankies,"  he  said  affably,  as  they  went  up 
to  the  mantelpiece  and  stood  one  on  either  side  of  the 
fire,  "  what's  the  news  with  you.^^  " 

"  We  are  to  have  a  new  preceptress,"  said  Joan,  the 
elder,  "  vice  the  old  Starling,  seconded  for  service  else- 
where." 

Dick  turned  and  stared  at  her.  "  Old  Miss  Bird 
leaving !  "  he  exclaimed.     "  Surely  not !  " 

"  You  can't  be  more  surprised  than  we  were,"  said 
Nancy — the  twins  generally  spoke  alternately.  "  She 
broke  it  to  us  in  floods  of  tears  this  afternoon.  Joan 
cried  too." 

"  So  did  you,"  retorted  Joan.  "  You  blubbered  like 
a  seal." 

"  And  it  did  me  credit,"  said  Nancy,  accepting  the 
charge  with  complete  equanimity. 

"  What  is  she  going  for.?  "  asked  Dick. 

"  She  has  to  go  and  look  after  her  sister,  poor  old 
thing !  "  said  Joan.  "  And  she  doesn't  think  she  knows 
enough  to  take  us  on  any  further." 

"  We  denied  it  hotly,  to  comfort  her,"  continued 
Nancy.  "  But  it's  quite  true.  We  have  the  brains  of 
the  family,  and  are  now  going  to  leave  childish  things 
behind  us.     I  wish  you'd  make  your  watch  ring,  Dick." 

Dick  pressed  the  spring  of  his  repeater,  and  the 
twins  listened  to  its  tinkle  in  silence.  Nancy  sighed 
when  he  put  it  into  his  pocket.  "  Even  that  isn't  the 
treat  that  it  used  to  be,"  she  said.  "  We  are  getting 
too  old  for  these  simple  pleasures.     Joan  is  beginning 


A   QUESTION   OF  MATRIMONY     13 

to  take  an  interest  in  dress,  and  I  am  often  to  be  seen 
absorbed  in  a  book.  Dick,  shall  you  kiss  Miss  Bird 
when  you  say  good-bye?  There's  nothing  she  would 
love  better." 

"When  is  she  going?"  asked  Dick,  ignoring  the 
question. 

"  In  about  a  week,"  Joan  replied.  "  Dick,  I  think 
you  ought  to  kiss  her,  if  you  possibly  can.  You  are 
the  eldest,  and  nearer  her  heart  than  any  of  us.  She 
told  us  so." 

"  I'll  give  you  both  a  kiss  and  you  can  pass  it  on," 
said  Dick,  with  an  arm  round  each.  "  Come  along 
down." 

They  went  down  to  the  morning-room,  and  on  the 
stroke  of  eight  Dick  led  his  mother  into  dinner,  the 
Squire   following. 

The  twins  settled  themselves  each  in  a  corner  of  the 
big  sofa  in  front  of  the  fire.  They  usually  read  during 
the  half-hour  before  they  were  summoned  to  dessert,  but 
this  evening  they  had  something  to  talk  about. 

"  I  wonder  what  she'll  be  like,"  Nancy  began. 

"  If  Aunt  Emmeline  chooses  her  I  should  think  she 
would  be  all  right,"  said  Joan. 

Nancy  considered  this.  "  Yes,"  she  said.  "  But  she 
will  have  to  be  kept  in  her  place.  Of  course  we  have 
always  been  able  to  do  exactly  as  we  like  with  the  old 
Starling.     Joan,  we  must  conserve  our  liberties." 

"  Oh,  I  think  we  shall  be  able  to  do  that,"  said  Joan. 
"  We  must  remain  calm  and  polite." 

"  And  keep  up  our  reputation  for  eccentricity," 
added  Nancy.     Then  they  both  giggled. 

"You  know,  Joan,  I  think  it's  rather  fun,"  Nancy 
proceeded.  "  I  shan't  a  bit  mind  learning  things  now. 
I  should  have  hated  it  a  year  or  two  ago.  But  you 
can't  deny  that  it  is  rather  slow  at  home." 

"  That's  why  Cicely  ran  away,"  said  Joan.  "  She 
simply  couldn't  stand  it  any  longer.     But  it  doesn't 


14  THE   ELDEST   SON 

worry  me  like  that.  We  have  a  pretty  good  time  on 
the  whole." 

"  Yes,  we  see  to  that.  But,  of  course.  Cicely  was 
much  older.  And  after  all,  she  didn't  run  very  far — 
only  to  London,  to  see  Walter  and  Muriel.  And  she 
soon  came  back." 

"  She  had  to.  I  believe  there  was  more  in  that  than 
we  knew  about." 

Nancy  looked  up  sharply.  "  Do  you.?  Why?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  believe  it  had  something  to  do 
with  her  engagement  to  Jim.  She  was  married  pretty 
soon  after,  anyhow,  and  there  was  no  talk  of  it  at  the 
time." 

"  I  wonder  if  we  could  find  out." 

"What's  the  good?  And  it's  over  two  years  ago 
now.  I  wonder  if  Dick  would  drive  us  over  to  Mount- 
field  to  see  the  babies  to-morrow.  He  won't  be  able  to 
hunt." 

"  He  won't  want  to  see  the  babies.  Men  are  so  silly 
in  that  way.    They  pretend  they  don't  care  for  them." 

"  Father  doesn't.  He's  just  as  silly  about  them  as 
we  are." 

"  It  isn't  silliness  in  us.  We  are  women,  and  we  un- 
derstand.    If  a  man  does  like  a  baby  it's  just  as  a 

"  All  the  same,  I  think  it  does  father  credit  liking 
his  grandchildren.  I  should  hardly  have  expected  it 
of  him." 

"  He's  getting  softer  in  his  old  age.  Nancy,  I  won- 
der how  mother  persuaded  him  to  let  us  have  a  really 
good  governess.  He'd  think  it  quite  absurd  that  girls 
should  want  to  learn  anything." 

"  My  dear  child,  you  could  get  anything  you  wanted 
out  of  father  if  you  tackled  him  in  the  right  way." 

"  Only  some  things." 

"  Anything,  I  said." 


A   QUESTION    OF   MATRIMONY      15 

"  I'll  bet  you  four  weeks'  pocket-money  that  you 
couldn't  get  him  to  let  us  hunt." 

"  Oh,  well !  that's  part  of  his  religion.  *  I  may  be 
old-fashioned — I  dare  say  I  am — but  to  see  a  pack  of 
women  scampering  about  the  country  and  riding  over 
the  hounds — eh,  what.?  No,  thank  you!'  I  didn't 
mean  I  could  make  him  become  a  Roman  Catholic,  or 
anything  of  that  sort.  But  I'll  bet  you  what  you  like 
I'll  get  him  to  let  us  have  a  pony." 

"  Four  shillings.?  " 

"  Right." 

"Do  you  think  you  really  can,  Nancy.?  It  would 
be  jolly." 

"  I  don't  see  why  he  shouldn't.  Cicely  always  rode 
old  Tommy,  and  so  did  we  till  he  died." 

"  Only  surreptitiously,  and  bare-backed.  We  should 
have  to  have  habits  and  all  that,  now." 

"  Mother  would  see  to  that.  Anyhow,  I'll  tackle 
him." 

"  How  shall  you  manage  it  ?  " 

"  I  shall  think  out  a  scheme." 

"  Dick  might  help.  Nancy,  I'll  bet  you  eight  weeks' 
pocket-money  you  can't  get  two  ponies." 

"  I'll  begin  with  one,  and  see  how  I  get  on.  Now 
I  think  I'll  immerse  myself  in  a  book." 

Presently  they  were  called  into  the  dining-room  and 
sat,  one  on  each  side  of  their  father,  cracking  and  peel- 
ing walnuts  for  him  and  eating  grapes  on  their  own 
account,  demure  and  submissively  responsive  to  his 
affectionate  jocularity.  "  What  big  girls  you're  both 
getting !  "  he  said.  "  And  going  to  be  turned  into 
blue-stockings,  eh,  what !  Have  to  buy  you  a  pair  of 
spectacles  each  next  time  I  go  to  Bathgate."  He 
laughed  his  big  laugh,  drank  half  a  glass  of  port, 
and  beamed  on  them.  He  thought  they  were  the  pret- 
tiest pair  of  young  feminine  creatures  he  had  ever 
seen^  and  so  little  trouble  too!     It  was  a  good  thing 


16  THE    ELDEST   SON 

for  a  man  to  have  sons  to  carry  on  his  name,  but  young 
girls  were  an  attractive  addition  to  a  family,  and  to 
the  pleasures  of  a  big  house.  He  had  thought  it  rather 
ridiculous  of  his  wife  to  present  him  with  the  twins 
fifteen  years  before,  and  seven  years  after  his  young- 
est son  was  born,  but  he  had  long  since  forgiven  her, 
and  would  not  now  have  been  without  them  for  any- 
thing. 

When  he  and  Dick  were  left  alone  over  their  wine 
there  was  a  short  pause,  and  then  he  cleared  his  throat 
and  began :  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  something, 
Dick." 

Dick  threw  a  glance  at  him  and  took  a  puff  at  his 
cigarette,  but  made  no  reply. 

The  Squire  seemed  a  little  nervous,  which  was  not 
usual  with  him.  "  Of  course  I  don't  want  to  interfere 
with  you  in  any  way,"  he  said.  "  I've  always  given 
you  a  pretty  free  hand,  even  with  the  property,  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing.  I've  consulted  you,  and  you've 
had  your  way  sometimes  when  we've  differed.  That's 
all  right.  It  will  belong  to  you  some  day,  and  you're — 
what.? — thirty-four  now." 

"  Yes,"  said  Dick.  "  Thirty-four.  Time  to  think 
of  settling  down,  eh.'^  " 

The  Squire  brightened.  "  Yes,  that's  just  it,"  he 
said.  "  Time  to  think  of  settling  down.  You've  had 
enough  soldiering — much  more  than  I  had.  I  never 
expected  you  would  stick  to  it  so  long." 

"  I  don't  want  to  leave  the  service  yet,"  said  Dick 
calmly.  "  I'm  down  here  pretty  often — almost  all  my 
leave." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  said  the   Squire.      "  But  if — 

if Well,  look  here,  Dick — no  use  beating  about 

the  bush — why  can't  you  get  married  .f'" 

Dick  smiled.  "  It  wouldn't  be  a  bad  scheme,"  he 
said. 

The  Squire  was  pleased.     He  was  getting  on  splen- 


A   QUESTION    OF   MATRIMONY      17 

didly.  "  You  feel  that,"  he  said.  "  Well,  I  haven't 
liked  to  say  anything,  but  it's  been  on  my  mind  for  a 
long  time."  He  then  recapitulated  the  reasons  why 
he  thought  Dick  should  marry,  as  he  had  enunciated 
them  to  Mrs.  Clinton — his  position  as  eldest  son  and 
heir  to  a  fine  property,  his  advancing  age,  the  inad- 
visabihty  of  looking  to  Melbury  Park  as  the  cradle  for 
a  successor  to  the  emoluments  and  amenities  of  Ken- 
cote,  or  of  leaving  it  to  Humphrey,  the  second  son,  to 
provide  an  heir.  "  The  fact  is,  you  ought  to  do  it  for 
your  own  sake,"  he  wound  up,  "  as  well  as  for  the  sake 
of  the  place." 

"Whom  do  you  want  me  to  marry.?"  asked  Dick, 
with  a  shade  of  flippancy. 

"  Oh,  well,  I'd  leave  that  to  you,"  the  Squire  con- 
ceded handsomely.  "  You've  a  lot  to  offer.  I  should 
think  you  could  pretty  well  take  your  pick — must  have 
had  plenty  of  opportunities  all  these  years.  You 
needn't  look  for  money,  though  it's  always  useful.  Any 
nice  girl  of  good  birth — of  course  you  wouldn't  want 
to  marry  one  who  wasn't.  Good  heavens!  there  must 
be  a  score  of  them  presented  every  year,  and  you  have 
been  about  London  now  for  ten  or  twelve  years.  Do 
you  mean  to  say  you  haven't  got  one  in  your  mind.'^  " 

"  Haven't  you?  "  asked  Dick. 

"  Well,  if  you  like  to  consult  me,  why  not  Grace 
Ettien.?  Old  Humphrey  Meadshire  would  be  delighted. 
She  is  his  favourite  granddaughter,  and  I'm  sure  he 
would  like  to  see  her  married  before  he  goes." 

"  Grace  is  a  charming  girl,"  replied  Dick.  "  But  I 
don't  want  to  marry  my  cousin." 

"  Cousin !  My  dear  fellow,  old  Humphrey  and  your 
grandfather  were  first  cousins.  You're  surely  not  go- 
ing to  let  that  stand  in  the  way." 

"  I've  known  her  ever  since  she  was  a  baby.  She's 
a  baby  now.  It  would  be  like  marrying  one  of  the 
Twankies." 


18  THE   ELDEST   SON 

The  Squire  began  to  get  fussed.  "You're  talking 
nonsense,  Dick,"  he  said.  "  She  must  be  at  least 
twenty-one.  The  fact  is  you  have  left  it  so  long  that 
an  ordinary  girl  of  a  marriageable  age  seems  a  child 
to  you.    You'll  be  taking  up  with  a  widow  next." 

There  was  an  appreciable  pause  before  Dick  asked, 
"  Well,  should  you  object  so  much  to  that.?  " 

"  Of  course  I  should,"  said  the  Squire,  " — for  you. 
I  shouldn't  mind  in  the  case  of  Humphrey,  if  she  wasn't 
too  old,  and  had  enough  money  for  the  pair  of  them. 
Vm  not  going  to  pay  any  more  of  his  debts.  I'm  sick 
of  it." 

Dick  allowed  the  conversation  to  travel  down  this 
byroad  for  a  time,  and  when  the  Squire  brought  it  back 
to  the  original  track,  said,  "  Well,  I'll  think  over  what 
you  say.  But  I  don't  know  that  I  should  care,  now, 
about  marrying  a  young  girl." 

The  Squire  turned  this  over  in  his  mind,  looking  down 
on  his  plate,  and  his  brows  came  together.  "  What 
do  you  mean .?  "  he  asked  shortly.  "  You  wouldn't  want 
to  marry  an  old  woman." 

Dick  took  his  cigarette  out  of  his  mouth  and  looked 
at  it. 

"  When  I  marry,"  he  said  decisively,  "  it  will  prob- 
ably be  a  woman  of  nearer  thirty  than  twenty." 

The  Squire  made  the  best  of  it.  "  Oh,  well— as  long 
as  she's  not  over  thirty,"  he  said.  "  Girls  don't  marry 
so  young  as  they  used  to.  But — well,  you  must  think 
of  an  heir,  Dick." 

Dick  made  no  reply  to  this,  and  the  conversation 
ended. 


CHAPTER  III 

EXIT    MISS    BIRD 

Miss  Bird  arose  on  the  next  morning  to  find  her  win- 
dow glazed  with  frost,  and  it  was  characteristic  of 
her  and  of  the  house  in  which  she  had  lived  for  over 
thirty  years  that  her  first  thought  was,  "  No  hunting 
to-day " ;  although  the  deprivation  could  not  be  ex- 
pected to  hold  any  disappointment  for  herself,  or  indeed 
to  affect  her  in  any  way. 

Her  second  thought  marked  a  drop  to  the  sombre 
uneasiness  in  which  she  had  spent  wakeful  hours  during 
the  night.  She  would  not  rise  many  more  times  in  this 
familiar  room,  nor  look  out  on  to  a  scene  which  she 
had  come  to  know  so  well  at  all  seasons  of  the  year 
that  she  could  not  help  loving  it.  She  would  have  liked 
to  see  the  trees  of  the  park,  for  a  farewell,  in  their  early 
June  dress,  the  grass  about  them  powdered  with  the 
yellow  of  buttercups.  But  she  hoped  so  to  see  them 
again.  She  had  been  made  to  feel  that  she  was  parting 
from  friends,  that  she  was  by  virtue  of  her  long  and 
faithful  service  part  of  the  family,  that  she  would  not 
lose  them  altogether.  The  Squire  had  said  the  day 
before,  when  he  had  made  known  to  her  that  he  had 
heard  of  her  projected  departure,  "You  must  come 
and  see  us,  you  know,  Miss  Bird.  The  house  won't  be 
like  itself  without  you." 

Could  anything  be  more  gratifying — and  from  such 
a  man?  Mrs.  Clinton,  of  course,  had  been  kindness 
itself,  had  said  just  the  right  things  to  make  a  person 
feel  herself  valued,  and  said  them  as  if  she  meant  them, 
as  no  doubt,  dear  lady,  she  did,  for  she  was  always 
sincere.    And  the  darling  children  had  cried — she  should 

19 


go  THE    ELDEST   SON 

never  forget  that  as  long  as  she  hved — when  she  had 
told  them  that  she  was  going.  Here  the  simple  lady 
found  a  tear  trickling  down  her  own  sharp  nose,  and 
put  a  hairpin  in  her  mouth  while  she  wiped  it  away. 

It  seemed  impossible  that  she  should  really  be  going. 
It  was  just  upon  thirty  years  since  she  had  first  come 
to  Kencote,  and  it  seemed  like  yesterday.  She  sum- 
moned up  a  rueful  little  smile  when  she  recalled,  in  the 
light  of  her  now  assured  position  as  "  a  member  of  the 
family,"  her  palpitating  nervousness  on  her  introduc- 
tion to  the  great  house,  so  different  from  anything  she 
had  known.  She  had  never  been  "  out  "  before.  She 
had  had  a  good  education,  for  those  days,  in  the  day 
school  that  her  mother,  the  doctor's  widow,  and  her 
elder  sister  had  carried  on  in  the  little  town  in  which  she 
had  been  born,  and  had  taught  in  it  till  she  was  twenty- 
eight.  Then,  after  deep  consultation,  she  had  answered 
Mrs.  Clinton's  advertisement,  and,  her  references  hav- 
ing proved  satisfactory,  had  been  engaged  to  impart 
the  rudiments  of  education  to  a  child  of  five,  which 
she  had  modestly  thought  she  was  as  capable  of  doing 
as  anybody,  and  at  a  salary  that  seemed  to  her 
munificent. 

She  remembered  arriving  at  Kencote  on  a  spring  even- 
ing and  being  received  by  Mrs.  Clinton,  the  pretty 
young  wife  and  mother,  who  had  been  almost  as  shy 
as  herself,  but  had  been  so  anxious  that  everything 
should  be  "  nice  "  for  her  that  she  had  soon  lost  her 
awe  of  the  big  house  and  the  many  servants;  and  even 
the  figure  in  the  background  from  which  all  the  splen- 
dour around  her  emanated  lost  some  of  its  imaginative 
terror,  since  the  lady  of  the  house  had  proved  so  ac- 
cessibly human.  She  had  thought  the  little  boy, 
whom  she  had  been  taken  to  see  in  bed,  a  darling,  and 
so  quaint  when  he  asked  her  solemnly  if  she  could  jump 
a  pony  over  a  log,  because  he  could.  She  had  liked  his 
quiet,  elderly  nurse,  who  had  come  to  talk  to  her  in 


EXIT    MISS    BIRD  21 

her  schoolroom  when  he  had  gone  to  sleep.  She  had 
called  her  *'  miss,"  and  shown  that  she  had  no  wish  to 
"  presume,"  but  only  the  wish  to  be  friendly,  and  they 
had,  in  fact,  remained  friends  for  years.  She  had 
been  greatly  pleased  with  the  size  and  comfort  of  her 
schoolroom,  which  she  had  entirely  to  herself,  to  read 
or  write  or  play  the  piano  in,  outside  hours  of  lessons, 
which  were  at  first  as  short  as  was  conceivably  possible. 
And  she  had  not  in  the  least  expected  that  there  would 
be  a  maid  for  the  schoolroom,  who  was,  as  she  wrote 
to  her  sister,  practically  her  own  maid,  calling  her  in 
the  morning  and  bringing  her  a  cup  of  tea,  lighting  a 
fire  for  her  every  evening  in  her  bedroom  as  a  matter 
of  course,  and  indeed  treating  her  as  if  she  might  be 
the  mistress  of  the  house. 

She  had  been  happy  at  Kencote  from  the  first,  al- 
though she  had  been  a  good  deal  alone,  for  until  her 
little  pupil  had  grown  bigger  she  had  had  all  her  meals 
sent  up  to  her  in  the  schoolroom,  except  on  Sundays, 
when  she  lunched  downstairs  in  charge  of  Httle  Dick. 
Those  were  nervous  occasions,  for  it  took  her  a  long 
time  to  get  used  to  the  Squire — the  young  Squire,  as 
he  was  then — with  his  loud  laugh  and  hearty  ways,  who 
used  to  chaff  her  at  table  in  a  way  to  cause  her  uneasi- 
ness, although  he  was  never  anything  but  kind,  and 
she  was  assured,  even  when  she  blushed  deepest,  that  his 
manner  was  only  intended  to  put  her  at  her  ease  and 
make  her  feel  "  one  of  the  family." 

She  had  soon  lost  any  awe  she  may  have  started  with 
of  Mrs.  Clinton,  although  her  respect  for  that  lady's 
character  had  only  grown  with  the  passage  of  time. 
Mrs.  Clinton  used  to  sit  with  her  sometimes  in  the 
schoolroom,  and  in  the  summer  time  they  would  work 
under  the  big  lime  in  the  garden  while  httle  Dick  played 
about  on  the  lawn.  Miss  Bird's  simple  gaiety  of  heart 
had  had  play,  and  her  rather  breathless  volubility  had 
never  been   checked  by   any   stiffness   on   the  part   of 


gg  THE    ELDEST   SON 

Mrs.  Clinton.  Mr.  Beach,  the  Rector  of  Kencote,  and 
the  Squire's  half-brother,  had  always  treated  her  with 
consideration,  and  his  wife  had  made  her  feel  at  home 
in  the  rectory,  and  expected  her  to  visit  there  occa- 
sionally on  her  own  account.  The  Squire's  six  maiden 
aunts  at  the  dower-house,  all  but  one  of  whom  were  now 
dead,  had  also  treated  her  kindly,  but  in  a  rather  more 
patronising  manner.  She  had  not  minded  that.  She 
had  quite  agreed  with  the  opinion  which  underlay  every- 
thing they  said  amd  did,  though  it  was  seldom  expressed 
in  words,  that  the  Clintons  of  Kencote  were  great  peo- 
ple in  the  land,  and  her  native  humility  had  led  her 
to  accept  gratefully  the  attentions  paid  to  her  by  them 
and  their  neighbours,  and  to  "  presume  "  on  it  no  more 
than  little  Dick's  nurse  had  presumed  on  her  own  mild 
gentility. 

She  had  found  little  Dick  rather  a  handful  as  he 
grew  older,  but  she  had  coped  successfully  with  him, 
by  the  expenditure  of  much  energy  of  speech  and 
action,  and  had  courageously  beaten  the  beginnings  of 
learning  into  his  brain,  so  that  he  took  a  good  place 
at  his  first  school,  and  she  was  not  disgraced.  By  that 
time  Humphrey  was  ready  for  her  guiding  hand,  and 
then  Walter,  and  a  few  years  later.  Cicely,  hailed  with 
joy  as  a  pupil  whom  she  might  train  up  to  the  fine 
finish;  for  there  could  be  no  talk  of  school  for  a  girl 
Clinton,  and  Miss  Bird's  success  with  Dick  had  given 
her  a  high  place  as  an  instructress  in  the  Squire's  esti- 
mate of  her  abilities,  so  that  there  was  never  any  idea 
of  her  being  some  day  superseded,  and  the  years  at 
Kencote  stretched  happily  in  front  of  her. 

Cicely  was  nine,  and  Frank,  the  sailor,  seven,  when 
the  twins  arrived.  The  day  of  their  birth  was  a  good 
day  in  Miss  Bird's  annals.  It  meant  more  years  still 
at  Kencote,  and  by  this  time  the  idea  of  living  with 
any  other  family  would  have  been  most  distressing  to 
her.    And  yet  she  would  have  had  to  seek  another  situa- 


EXIT   MISS    BIRD  23 

tion  but  for  the  arrival  of  the  twins,  for  when  she 
should  have  finished  with  Cicely  she  would  be  fifty  only, 
and  would  not  have  put  by  enough  money  to  enable  her 
to  retire.  These  are  the  hardships  of  a  governess's 
lot,  and  Miss  Bird  had  them  fully  in  her  mind,  saving 
and  skimping  all  through  the  fruitful  years  for  a  time 
when  not  only  the  opulences  of  existence  in  a  house 
like  Kencote  should  be  hers  no  longer,  but  it  might  be 
difficult  to  make  ends  meet  at  all.  The  twins  lifted  a 
weight  off  her  mind,  which,  with  all  her  daily  cheerful- 
ness and  courage,  had  never  been  quite  absent  from  her ; 
for  another  nine  or  ten  years  would  just  enable  her 
to  provide  for  her  old  age,  and  she  knew  that  those  nine 
or  ten  years  would  be  hers  if  she  could  only  keep  her 
health,  of  which  there  seemed  no  reasonable  doubt. 
"  It  is  not  many  women  in  my  position  who  are  as  for- 
tunate as  I,"  she  had  written  to  her  sister  at  the  time. 
"  The  Squire,  who  roared  with  laughter  when  he  heard 
of  the  birth  of  the  darling  babies,  said  to  me  the  first 
time  he  saw  me  afterwards,  '  Well,  that  fixes  you  for 
another  twenty  years.  Miss  Bird.'  And  he  added  in  a 
way  which  you  might  think  profane  if  you  had  not 
heard  him  say  it,  '  Thank  God,  eh?  '  " 

Well,  here  was  the  end  of  those  happy  years,  which 
seemed  to  have  sped  like  a  week  or  two  since  the  birth 
of  the  twins.  She  had  seen  Walter  and  Cicely  married 
and  had  dandled  their  babies.  She  had  shared  Mrs. 
CHnton's  daily  anxiety  during  the  long  months  Dick 
had  served  in  South  Africa,  and  had  taken  his  award 
of  a  D.S.O.  almost  as  a  personal  compliment.  She  had 
been  glad  at  all  the  joys  of  the  family  and  saddened 
with  their  sorrows.  She  had  seen  the  Squire  grow  from 
a  handsome  young  man  to  an  elderly  one,  and  Mrs. 
Clinton's  hair  turn  nearly  white.  She  had  boxes  and 
drawers  full  of  the  presents  she  had  received  at  Christ- 
mas and  on  her  birthdays,  which  had  never  been  for- 
gotten, and  the  photographs  of  Clintons  of  all  ages 


^4  THE    ELDEST   SON 

from  babyhood  upwards  were  displayed  on  every  avail- 
able standing  place  in  her  room.  They  were  more  to 
her  than  her  sister  or  her  sister's  children,  but  the 
call  had  come  to  her  to  leave  them  and  to  go  to  a  place 
where  she  would  have  to  work  hard  and  anxiously  for 
the  rest  of  her  life  on  a  very  small  pittance  and  in 
very  narrow  surroundings,  and  it  had  never  occurred 
to  her  to  shirk  it.  It  had  all  fitted  in — she  felt  that 
she  had  been  "  guided."  The  teaching  which  she  had 
never  doubted  that  she  was  able  to  give  to  Cicely  now 
seemed  to  her  inadequate  for  the  finish  of  the  twins' 
education,  but  she  did  doubt,  now  that  her  departure 
had  been  settled  for  her  on  other  grounds,  whether  she 
would  have  had  che  strength  to  say  so  and  cut  herself 
adrift  of  her  own  accord.  Here  was  matter  for  thank- 
fulness— that  she  had  been  led  to  see  what  her  duty 
was,  and  to  do  it.  She  would  always  have  Kencote  to 
look  back  to,  and  she  was  indeed  fortunate  to  have 
spent  the  best  part  of  her  life  in  such  a  place,  and  with 
such  people. 

The  twins  came  in  as  she  was  finishing  her  toilette, 
to  take  her  down  to  breakfast.  This  was  a  reversal 
of  the  procedure  of  the  past,  when  it  had  been  the  first 
of  her  daily  duties  to  hunt  them  out  of  whatever  spot 
out  of  doors  or  in  to  which  their  vagrant  fancy  had 
led  them,  and  see  that  they  appeared  to  the  public  eye 
duly  washed,  combed,  and  brushed.  They  embraced 
her,  enveloping  her  wizened  form  with  their  exuberant 
youth,  like  flowers  round  a  peastick,  and  she  was  moved 
to  the  depths  of  her  being,  though  all  she  said  was, 
"  Now,  Joan  'n'  Nancy,  don't  be  rough.  You  can  love 
a  person  without  untidying  her  hair." 

"  Are  your  nails  quite  clean.  Starling  darling.'^  " 
asked  Joan,  taking  one  of  her  hands  and  examining  it. 

"  And  are  you  quite  sure  you've  brushed  your  teeth 
properly  .f^"  enquired  Nancy. 

"  Now  don't  tease,  Joan  'n'  Nancy,"  said  Miss  Bird, 


EXIT   MISS    BIRD  25 

disengaging  herself.  "  I  shall  only  be  here  another 
week  and  you  must  try  and  be  good  girls  and  let  me  go 
away  remembering  that." 

"  Joan  was  saying  this  morning  as  we  were  dressing," 
said  Nancy,  "  that  she  was  very  sorry  now  to  think  of 
all  the  trouble  she  had  given  you.  Starling  darling,  and 
if  she  could  have  the  time  over  again  she  would  behave 
very  differently." 

"  Idiot !  "  retorted  Joan.  "  It's  you  who  have  given 
the  trouble.  Starling  has  often  said  that  if  it  weren't 
for  your  example  I  should  be  a  very  good  girl,  haven't 
you,   Starling  darling. ^^  " 

"  You  would  both  be  good  girls  if  it  wasn't  for  the 
other's  example,"  replied  Miss  Bird.  "  And  you  can 
be  dear  good  girls  as  good  as  gold  and  I  hope  you  will 
when  the  new  governess  comes  to  teach  you." 

"  I  hope  we  shall,  but  I  doubt  it,"  said  Joan. 

"  You  see,  Starling  darling,  what  we  would  do  for 
you  we  couldn't  be  expected  to  do  for  a  stranger  whom 
we  didn't  love,  could  we.^^  "  said  Nancy. 

Miss  Bird  was  moved  by  this,  and  would  have  liked 
to  embrace  the  speaker,  with  words  of  endearment. 
But  she  had  grown  rather  wary  of  exhibiting  affection 
towards  her  pupils,  who  were  apt  to  respond  so  volu- 
minously as  to  leave  her  crumpled,  if  not  actually 
dishevelled. 

"  Well,  if  you  love  me  as  much  as  you  say  you  do," 
she  said,  "  you  will  remember  all  the  things  I  have  told 
you;  now  are  you  quite  ready  for  breakfast,  because 
it  is  time  to  go  down.^^  " 

"  We  told  Dick  you  would  like  him  to  kiss  you  before 
you  went,  and  I  think  he  will,"  said  Joan  innocently, 
as  they  went  down  the  broad  staircase  all  three 
abreast. 

"  Now,  Joan,  if  you  really  said  a  thing  like  that — 
oh,  take  care !  take  care ! "  Miss  Bird  had  tried  to 
stop  on  the  stairs  and  withdraw  her  arm  from  Joan's, 


S6  THE   ELDEST   SON 

who,  assisted  by  Nancy  on  the  other  side,  had  led  her 
on  so  that  she  tripped  over  the  next  step,  and  would 
have  fallen  but  for  the  firm  grasp  of  the  twins.  She 
was  led  into  the  dining-room,  protesting  volubly,  until 
she  saw  that  Mrs.  Clinton  and  Dick  were  there,  when 
the  episode  ended. 

When  breakfast  was  over  the  Squire  surprised  her 
by  asking  her  immediate  attendance  in  his  room,  to 
which  she  followed  him  across  the  hall  in  a  flutter  of 
apprehension.  It  would  not  be  quite  true  to  say  that 
she  had  never  been  into  this  room  during  the  thirty 
years  of  her  sojourn  at  Kencote,  but  it  was  certainly 
the  first  time  she  had  entered  it  on  the  Squire's  invita- 
tion. He  did  not  ask  her  to  take  a  seat,  nor  did  he 
take  one  himself,  but  stood  in  front  of  the  fire  with 
his  coat  tails  over  his  arm  and  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

"  There's  a  little  matter  of  business  I  should  like  to 
settle  with  you,  Miss  Bird,"  he  said.  "  You've  lived 
here  a  considerable  number  of  years,  and  you've  done 
remarkably  well  by  us  and  the  children.  If  everybody 
did  their  duty  in  life  as  well  as  you.  Miss  Bird,  the 
world  'ud  be  a  better  place  than  it  is,  by  George !  Now 
I  want  to  do  a  little  something  for  you,  as  you've  done 
so  much  for  us,  and  I've  talked  it  over  with  Dick,  and 
we  are  going  to  buy  you  a  little  annuity  of  fifty  pounds 
a  year,  which  with  what  my  wife  tells  me  you've  saved 
will  put  you  out  of  anxiety  for  the  future;  and  I'll 
tell  you  this.  Miss  Bird,  that  I  never — Eh,  what !  Oh, 
my  good  woman  .  .  .  God's  sake  .  .  .  here,  don't  take 
on  like  that  .    .    .  Gobblessme,  what's  to  be  done.?  " 

For  Miss  Bird,  overcome  by  this  last  great  mark 
of  esteem,  had  broken  down  and  was  now  sobbing  into 
her  handkerchief.  Knowing,  however,  the  Squire's  dis- 
like of  a  scene  she  succeeded  in  controlling  herself,  and 
addressed  him  with  no  more  than  an  occasional  hiccup. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Clinton ;  I  couldn't  help  it 
and  it's  too  much  and  I  thank  you  from  the  bottom  of 


EXIT   MISS    BIRD  27 

my  heart  and  shall  never  forget  it  as  long  as  I  live 
and  it's  just  like  all  the  rest  of  the  kindness  I've  re- 
ceived in  this  house  which  I  could  never  repay  if  I  lived 
to  be  a  hundred." 

"  Well,  I'm  very  glad  it  meets  your  views,  Miss  Bird," 
said  the  Squire,  greatly  relieved  at  the  subsidence  of 
emotion,  and  anxious  to  escape  further  thanks.  "  And 
I  assure  you  the  obligation's  still  on  our  side.  Now, 
I  must  write  some  letters,  and  I  dare  say  you've  got 
something  to  do,  too." 

Miss  Bird  retired  to  her  bedroom  where,  unrebuked, 
she  shed  her  tears  of  thankfulness,  then  wiped  her  eyes 
and  sponged  her  face  and  went  about  the  duties  of  the 
day. 

These  did  not,  this  morning,  include  lessons  for  the 
twins,  for  it  was  Saturday,  which  was  for  them  a  holi- 
day, when  complete  freedom  was  tempered  only  by  the 
necessity  of  "  practising."  Dick  had  refused  to  drive 
them  over  to  Mountfield  to  see  their  sister  and  her 
babies,  but  had  offered  them  a  walk  to  the  dower-house 
during  the  course  of  the  morning. 

"  I  wonder  what  he  wants  to  go  there  for.''  "  said 
Joan,  as  they  went  upstairs. 

"  There's  more  in  this,"  said  Nancy,  "  than  meets 
the  eye." 

There  did  not,  however,  seem  to  be  more  in  it  than 
a  natural  desire  to  see  a  house  empty  which  one  has 
always  known  occupied,  and  this  desire  the  twins  shared. 
They  found  Dick  in  an  affable  mood  as  they  walked 
across  the  park  together — the  sort  of  affectionately 
jovial  mood  of  which  they  had  occasionally  taken  ad- 
vantage to  secure  a  temporary  addition  to  their 
income.  Indeed,  it  seemed  to  have  brought  Dick  him- 
self a  reminder  of  his  young  sisters'  financial  require- 
ments, for  he  asked  them,  "  Have  you  saved  up  enough 
money  for  your  camera  yet,  Twankies?" 

Neither  of  them  replied  for  the  moment,  then  Joan 


28  THE    ELDEST    SON 

said  rather  stiffly,  "  We  shan't  be  able  to  buy  that  for 
some  time." 

"  Why,  you  only  wanted  twenty-five  shillings  to  make 
it  up  a  month  ago,  and  I  gave  you  a  sovereign  towards 
it,"  said  Dick. 

Another  short  pause,  and  then  Nanc}^  said,  "  You 
gave  it  us !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Dick,  "  to  buy  a  camera.  I'm  not  cer- 
tain you  didn't  screw  it  out  of  me.  I  never  quite  know 
whether  it's  my  idea  or  yours  when  I  tip  you  Twankies. 
Come  now,  what  have  you  done  with  that  sovereign  ?  " 

"  We  have  spent  it  on  a  good  object,"  said  Joan. 
"  But  we  do  want  the  camera  most  frightfully  badly, 
and  if  you  would  like  to  contribute  to  the  fund  again 
it  would  save  us  many  weary  months  of  waiting." 

"  To  saj^  nothing  of  a  severe  economy  painful  to 
our  generous  natures,"  added  Nancy. 

"  Not  till  I  know  what  you  spent  the  last  contribu- 
tion on,"  said  Dick.  "  You're  getting  regular  young 
spendthrifts.  I  shall  have  to  look  into  this,  or  you'll 
be  ruining  me  by  and  by." 

"  Won't  you  give  us  anything  more  unless  we  tell 
you?"  enquired  Joan;  and  Nancy  amended  the  ques- 
tion :  "  Will  you  give  us  something  more  if  we  do  tell 
you?" 

"  I'll  see,"  said  Dick.     "  Come,  out  with  it !  " 

"  Well,  it's  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of,"  said  Joan. 
"  We  wanted  to  buy  the  old  Starling  a  really  good 
present,  and  out  of  our  own  money." 

"  It  took  the  form  of  a  pair  of  silver-backed  brushes 
with  cupids'  heads  on  them,  and  cost  three  pounds 
seventeen  and  sixpence,"  added  Nancy. 

"  They  are  not  cupids,  but  angels,"  said  Joan, 
"  which  are  much  more  adapted  to  Starling's  tastes." 

"  Well— cupids  or  angels — it  cleaned  us  entirely  out," 
concluded  Nancy. 

Dick  put  an  arm  round  the  shoulders  of  each  and 


EXIT    MISS    BIRD  29 

gave  them  a  squeeze  as  they  walked.  "  You're  a  pair 
of  topping  good  Twankies,"  he  said.  "  I'll  start  your 
new  camera  fund.     I'll  give  it  you  now." 

"  Thanks  awfully,  Dick,"  said  Joan,  as  he  took  out 
his  sovereign  purse,  "  but  I  think  we'd  rather  you 
didn't.  You  see,  it's  rather  a  special  occasion — the  poor 
old  Starling  going  away — and  we  wanted  to  give  her 
something  that  would  really  cost  us  something." 

"  I  agree  with  my  sister,"  said  Nancy.  "  But  thanks 
awfully  all  the  same,  Dick.     You're  always  a  brick." 

"  Well,  I  respect  the  delicacy  of  your  feelings, 
Twanks,"  said  Dick.  "  But  isn't  anybody  ever  going 
to  be  allowed  to  contribute  to  the  camera  fund?  How 
long  does  the  embargo  last?" 

"  There's  a  good  deal  in  that,"  said  Joan  thought- 
fully. "  Of  course  we  can't  refuse  tips  for  ever,  can 
we,  Nancy?  " 

Nancy  thought  not.  "  Let's  say  in  a  month  from 
to-day,"  she  suggested.  "  If  Dick  likes  to  give  us 
something  then  and  happens  to  remember  it — of  course, 
we  shan't  remind  him — then  I  think  we  might  accept 
without  feeling  pigs." 

"  I'll  make  a  note  of  that,"  said  Dick  gravely,  "  when 
I  get  home." 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    DOWER-HOUSE 

Surrounded  by  its  winter  woods  and  an  over-thick 
growth  of  evergreens,  the  Httle  Jacobean  hall,  which 
had  for  centuries  been  the  second  home  of  the  Clintons 
of  Kencote,  had  an  air  shghtly  depressing  as  Dick  and 
the  twins  came  to  it  through  the  yew-enclosed  garden 
at  the  back.  White  blinds  were  down  behind  all  the 
leaded  mullioned  windows,  only  one  thin  thread  of  smoke 
rose  into  the  sky  from  the  carved  and  twisted  chimney- 
stacks. 

Forty  years  before,  when  the  Squire  had  succeeded 
his  grandfather,  his  six  spinster  aunts  had  left  him  in 
undisturbed  possession  of  the  great  house  and  taken 
up  their  abode  here,  very  seldom  to  leave,  until  one  by 
one  they  had  been  carried  off  to  their  graves  in  Kencote 
churchyard.  Aunt  Ellen,  the  eldest  of  them  all,  had 
died  at  a  great  age  a  few  months  before,  and  Aunt 
Laura,  the  youngest,  who  was  now  seventy-eight,  had 
removed  herself  and  her  belongings  to  a  smaller  house 
in  the  village.  Neither  Dick  nor,  of  course,  the  twins 
had  ever  known  the  dower-house  unassociated  with  the 
quiet  lives  of  the  old  ladies,  and  they  shared  in  their 
different  degree  the  same  feeling  of  strangeness  as  they 
stood  under  the  porch  and  listened  to  the  bell  echoing  in 
the  empty  house.  It  was  like  a  human  body  from  which 
life  had  departed,  but  with  its  age  and  many  memories 
it  still  kept  a  soul  of  its  own  which  could  be  revivified 
by  fresh  occupancy. 

They  went  through  all  the  rooms.  There  was  a 
great  deal  of  fine  old  furniture  in  them,  things  which 


THE   DOWER-HOUSE  31 

Clintons  of  past  centuries  had  bought  new,  never  think- 
ing that  they  would  some  day  acquire  merit  as  an- 
tiquities. There  were  few  such  things  in  the  great 
house,  which  had  been  rebuilt  after  a  fire  in  the  reign 
of  Queen  Anne  and  refurnished  later  still,  in  the  reign 
of  Queen  Victoria.  Nor  had  the  beautiful  things  of 
which  the  dower-house  was  full  been  valued  in  the  least 
by  their  owners  until  long  after  the  six  maiden  aunts 
had  gone  to  live  there.  They  had  been  simply  old- 
fashioned  in  the  eyes  of  the  Squire,  their  owner,  and 
were  so  still,  for  he  had  no  knowledge  of  such  things, 
and  no  appreciation  of  them.  Dick  knew  a  little  more, 
and  as  he  looked  at  one  fine  old  piece  of  furniture 
after  another,  standing  forlorn  on  the  carpetless  floors, 
or  against  the  dark  panelling  of  the  walls,  he  said, 
"  By  Jove !  Twankies,  there's  some  good  stuff  in  this 
old  shanty." 

"  Who  is  going  to  live  in  it.?  "  asked  Joan. 

"  Ah,  that's  the  question !  "  replied  Dick.  "  Tell  you 
what,  Twankies,  let's  play  a  game.  Supposing  I  ever 
got  married,  /  should  live  here,  you  know.  Let's  see 
how  the  rooms  would  pan  out." 

The  twins  were  quite  ready  to  play  this  or  any  other 
game,  although  it  did  not  promise  much  excitement, 
because  there  were  only  quite  a  Hmited  number  of  rooms, 
and  most  of  them  were  more  or  less  obviously  labelled. 
It  seemed,  however,  that  Dick  was  prepared  to  play  the 
game  seriously,  for  after  they  had  fixed  the  dining- 
room,  drawing-room,  morning-room,  and  smoking-room, 
and  a  tiny  oak  parlour  which  the  aunts  had  used  for 
garden  chairs  and  implements  and  Dick  said  would  do 
for  his  guns  if  a  baize-lined  glass  cupboard  were  put 
up  in  a  recess  by  the  fireplace,  he  inspected  the  kitchen 
premises  with  some  thoroughness. 

"  I  say,  Dick,  are  you  going  to  get  married  and 
come  and  Hve  here  ?  "  asked  Joan,  as  he  began  to  make 
notes  on  the  back  of  an  envelope. 


32  THE   ELDEST   SON 

"  There's  more  in  this  than  meets  the  eye,"  observed 
Nancy. 

"  Small  Twankies  mustn't  ask  impertinent  questions," 
replied  Dick.  "  But  I'll  tell  you  exactly  how  it  stands, 
and  you  mustn't  let  it  go  any  further." 

"  Oh,  rather  not,"  said  Joan. 

"  Our  ears  are  all  agog,"  said  Nancy. 

"  You  see,  Twankies,  somebody  has  got  to  live  in  this 
house,  haven't  they?  Well,  then,  it  must  be  done  up, 
eh?  And  if  /  come  and  live  in  it  some  day,  I  don't 
want  to  have  to  do  it  up  again — see?  So  there  you 
have  it  all  in  a  nutshell." 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  said  Joan ;  "  but  it's  a  little  disap- 
pointing." 

"  It  all  sounds  very  reasonable,"  said  Nancy,  "  but 
I  still  think  there's  more  in  it  than  meets  the 
eye." 

They  were  in  the  great  stone-floored  kitchen,  which 
still  retained  its  cavernous  hearth  and  open  chimney. 

"  You  could  roast  an  ox  here,"  said  Dick.  "  We'll 
turn  this  into  a  servants'  hall,  Twankies,  and  rig  up 
the  other  place  for  cooking.  The  cellar's  all  right,  so 
is  the  pantry — and  big  enough  for  two.  We'll  divide 
it  up,  eh?  and  one  part  will  do  for  a  brushing-room. 
There's  nowhere  at  present  where  a  servant  can  brush 
your  clothes." 

"  What  wonderful  domestic  knowledge  you  display, 
Dick !  "  observed  Nancy.  "  Where  are  the  maids  to 
brush  their  mistresses'  clothes.'^  In  here  with  the 
valets.?" 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  said  Dick.  "  This  isn't  a  palace. 
People  who  come  to  stay  must  expect  some  incon- 
veniences. I  don't  see  any  place  for  a  game  larder. 
We  must  see  about  that  outside.  Now  we'll  go  up- 
stairs." 

They  went  up  the  broad  shallow  stairs  of  age-worn 
pak,  and  through  the  hive  of  rooms,  which  opened  into 


THE   DOWER-HOUSE  33 

one  another,  and  led  out  into  little  passages,  closets,  and 
stairways  in  the  most  confusing  way,  and  made  you 
wonder  what  scheme  of  daily  life  the  old  builder  had 
in  mind  when  he  planned  them.  He  had  certainly 
wasted  a  great  deal  of  room.  The  main  corridor 
opened  out  here  and  there  into  broad  spaces,  where 
there  was  perhaps  a  bookcase,  or  a  low  seat  under  a 
latticed  window,  or  only  the  rich  emptiness  of  the 
square  of  oak  panelling,  the  polished  floor,  and  the 
plastered  ceiling.  Whatever  his  aims,  he  had  gained 
his  effect  of  gracious  ease  and  warm  shelter.  However 
varied  might  be  the  needs  of  its  occupants  through  the 
succeeding  years,  the  dower-house  would  be  as  much 
of  a  home  as  on  the  day  it  was  first  built. 

"  A  man  might  make  himself  very  comfortable  here, 
Mr.  Copperfield,"  quoted  Nancy,  as  they  stood  at  a 
window  of  the  biggest  bedroom,  which  had  panels  of 
linen  pattern,  with  a  plastered  frieze  and  an  oak-beamed 
ceiling.  There  was  also  a  heavy  carved  oak  bed,  in 
which  Aunt  Ellen  had  recently  looked  her  last  upon  sur- 
roundings that  had  continually  reminded  her  of  the  age 
and  importance  of  the  family  of  which  she  was  a 
member. 

"  I  shall  have  all  these  beastly  laurels  grubbed  up, 
and  some  of  the  trees  cut  down,"  said  Dick.  "  The 
place  is  like  a  family  vault.  And  I'm  not  sure  that  I 
won't  have  this  woodwork  painted  white." 

Joan  looked  doubtfully  round  her.  She  knew  noth- 
ing of  the  value  of  old  good  things,  but  she  felt  dimly 
that  the  carved  panelling,  dark  with  age,  ought  to 
remain  as  it  was.  Nancy  felt  so  still  more  strongly. 
"  It  would  be  wicked  to  do  that,"  she  said.  "  This  is 
a  lovely  room,  and  tells  you  stories.  If  you  like  I'll 
give  you  a  rhapsody." 

Joan  grinned.  "  Have  you  ever  heard  one  of 
Nancy's  rhapsodies,  Dick.^ "  she  asked.  "  They're 
awfully  good." 


34  THE   ELDEST   SON 

Dick  had  not,  but  expressed  himself  willing  to  listen 
to  whatever  foolishness  might  be  in  store  for  him  for" 
the  space  of  one  minute  precisely.  Nancy  stood  against 
the  dark  woodwork  on  the  other  side  of  the  room.  Her 
pretty,  mischievous  face  was  framed  in  the  thick  fall 
of  her  fair  hair  and  the  fur  round  her  throat.  She 
wore  a  little  fur  cap  and  a  red  coat,  and  a  big  muff 
hung  from  her  shoulders.  Dick,  always  affectionately 
disposed  towards  his  young  sisters,  thought  he  had 
never  seen  a  girl  of  her  age  look  prettier,  and  put  his 
arm  vicariously  round  Joan,  who  was  exactly  like  her, 
as  they  sat  on  the  window-seat. 

"  In  this  old  house,"  began  Nancy,  using  her  right 
hand  for  gesticulation  and  keeping  the  other  in  her 
muff,  "  lots  of  old  Clintons  have  died,  and  lots  of  new 
Clintons  have  been  born.  Think,  my  children,  of  the 
people  who  have  come  here  to  live.  Some  of  them  were 
gallant  young  men  Clintons  who  had  just  taken  to 
themselves  fair  young  brides,  and  they  were  full  of 
hope  for  the  future,  and  pleasure  in  having  such  a  jolly 
house  to  live  in  with  her  they  loved  best  in  the  world. 
A  few  years  would  pass  and  the  rooms  would  echo  with 
the  voices  and  steps  of  little  children,  and  all  would  be 
gaiety  and  mirth.  Then  a  change  would  come"  over  the 
spirit  of  the  scene.  The  young  couple  would  go  with 
their  family  to  the  great  house,  and  in  their  stead  would 
come  a  sad-faced  figure  in  deep  black,  a  Clinton  widow, 
who  had  had  her  day  of  glory,  and  would  now  spend 
the  rest  of  her  years  here  in  peace  and  seclusion.  But 
all  would  not  be  dark  to  her.  She  would  have  great 
fun  in  suiting  the  dear  old  house  to  her  taste,  she  would 
be  cheered  by  the  constant  visits  of  the  younger  mem- 
bers of  her  family,  and  she  could  do  a  good  deal  more 
what  she  liked  than  she  had  done  before." 

"  Well,  upon  my  word !  "  interposed  Dick. 

Nancy  held  up  her  hand.  "  Hear,  all  ye  Clintons !  " 
she  concluded.     "  Old  men  and  women,  young  men  and 


THE    DOWER-HOUSE  35 

maidens,  and  especially  the  gallant  warrior  knight  and 
the  sweet  young  maiden  I  see  before  me — ye  belong  to 
a  race  which  has  its  roots  far  back  in  history,  and  has 
been  distinguished  for  many  things,  but  not  particu- 
larly for  brains,  as  far  as  I  can  make  out  from  my 
/  recent  researches.  But  at  last  there  has  arisen  one  who 
will  make  up  for  that  deficiency.  You  now  behold  her 
« in  the  person  of  Nancy  Caroline  Clinton,  who  addresses 
you.  See  that  ye  cherish  her  and  tip  her  well,  or  ye  will 
be  eternally  disgraced  in  the  eyes  of  posterity." 

She  ended  with  a  ripple  of  laughter,  shaking  back 
her  hair. 

"  Well,  you're  the  limit,"  said  Dick,  with  a  grin. 
"  Come  on,  let's  go  and  look  at  the  stables.  Is  it  true 
that  you  suddenly  find  yourself  possessed  of  brains, 
Twanky.'*     I  never  suspected  it  of  you." 

"  My  dear  Dick,"  said  Joan,  as  they  went  down  the 
stairs,  "  she  has  been  talking  about  nothing  but  her 
brains  for  the  last  month,  ever  since  Uncle  Herbert  last 
came  here  to  shoot." 

"  They  were  always  there,"  explained  Nancy,  "  but 
he  put  the  match  to  the  tinder.  I'm  going  to  write 
books  when  I  get  a  little  older.  But  of  course  I  must 
be  properly  educated  first.  I  suppose  you  know  we're 
going  to  have  a  really  up-to-date,  top-hole  governess, 
Dick.?  " 

"  Yes,  I've  heard  that,"  said  Dick,  "  although  I 
don't  admire  your  way  of  describing  her.  Lord,  what 
a  place  to  put  a  horse !  " 

"  If  it  is  the  expression  '  top-hole '  you  object  to,  I 
learnt  it  from  you,"  said  Nancy.  "  My  ears  are  re- 
ceptive." 

"  Two  loose-boxes  and  three  stalls,"  said  Dick.  "  We 
can  make  that  do,  but  they're  all  on  the  slant.  We'd 
better  begin  by  altering  this  at  once ;  the  house  can  wait 
for  a  bit." 

"  Of  course  the  stables  are  mor^  important  than  the 


36  THE   ELDEST   SON 

house,"  said  Joan.     "  I  say,  Dick,  there  is  something 
we  want  to  ask  you.    Do  be  a  brick  and  say,  yes." 

Dick  was  pursuing  his  investigations.  "  Coach-house 
isn't  bad,"  he  said.  "  Harness-room  wants  refurnish- 
ing.    Let's  see  what  the  rooms  upstairs  are  like." 

They  climbed  up  the  steep  staircase.  "  Dick,  will 
you  persuade  father  to  do  something?  "  asked  Joan. 

"What.?"  asked  Dick.  "This  would  be  all  right 
for  an  unmarried  groom." 

"  We  want  a  pony.  We've  never  had  anything  to 
ride  since  poor  old  Tommy  died." 

They  were  clattering  down  the  stairs  again.  "  You 
want — you  want — you  want  everything,"  said  Dick. 
"  You'll  want  a  four-in-hand  next.  I  don't  know 
whether  you  want  a  pig-stye,  by  any  chance.  I'll  give 
you  this  one  if  you  do — ridiculous  place  to  put  it !  This 
is  where  we'll  build  the  game  larder.  Come  on,  Twan- 
kies,  we'll  go  and  look  up  old  Aunt  Laura.  I  want  to 
see  what  she's  taken  away  from  here." 

He  set  off  at  a  smart  pace,  the  twins  on  either  side 
of  him.  "  I  don't  know  why  you  want  to  go  putting 
your  oar  in  about  the  pony,"  said  Nancy.  "  I  was  to 
tackle  father  about  that." 

"  Tackle  father !  "  repeated  Dick.  "  Look  here ! 
that's  not  the  way  to  talk  about  the  governor,  Nancy." 

"  Oh,  Dick  darling,  don't  call  me  Nancy.  I  feel  that 
I'm  trembling  under  the  weight  of  your  displeasure." 

Joan  hastened  to  her  rehef.  "  When  she  said 
'  tackle,'  she  only  meant  that  I  betted  her  four  weeks' 
pocket-money  that  father  wouldn't  let  us  have  a  pony," 
she  said. 

"  You  mean  well,  but  you've  done  it  now,"  said 
Nancy. 

"  Really,  it's  about  time  that  you  two  had  somebody 
to  look  after  you,"  said  Dick.  "  Who  on  earth  taught 
you  to  bet,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  " 

"  Humphrey,"  replied  Nancy  promptly.     "  We  were 


THE    DOWER-HOUSE  37 

standing  by  him,  and  he  betted  us  a  shilling  each  that 
he  would  bring  down  the  next  bird  that  came  over. 
He  didn't,  and  he  paid  up  promptly." 

"  We  wanted  him  to  bet  again,  but  he  refused,"  said 
Joan, 

"  But  it  gave  us  a  taste  for  speculation  which  we 
shall  probably  never  overcome,"  said  Nancy. 

Dick  grunted.  "  Humphrey  oughtn't  to  have  done 
it,"  he  said.  "  You  are  not  to  bet  with  each  other,  you 
two.  And  that  bet  about  the  pony — which  was  infernal 
cheek  to  make,  anyhow — is  off.     Do  you  hear  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Dick  dear,"  said  Joan  obediently.  "  But  what 
does  a  bet  being  '  off '  mean,  exactly  ?  " 

"  Is  it  the  same  as  hedging.?  "  asked  Nancy. 

"  It  means — well,  it  means  it's  off.  You  know  what 
it  means  as  well  as  I  do.  And  I  don't  like  your  ar- 
ranging with  each  other  to  get  things  out  of  the  gov- 
ernor, either — or  anybody  else.  You  get  plenty  given 
you,  and  it  isn't  nice  for  girls  of  your  age  to  be  always 
on  the  make." 

"  But,  Dick  darling,"  expostulated  Joan,  "  there  are 
such  lots  of  horses  about  the  place.  I  think  we  might 
be  allowed  to  ride  now.  Of  course,  we  didn't  mean  a 
pony,  really.  We  are  big  enough  to  stick  on  a  horse, 
and  father  wouldn't  have  to  buy  another  one  for  us." 

"  We  are  about  to  embark  on  an  arduous  course  of 
study,"  said  Nancy,  "  and  horse  exercise  would  be  the 
best  possible  thing  for  us." 

"  You  stick  to  your  golf,"  said  Dick.  "  We  spent 
a  lot  of  money  making  those  links  in  the  park,  and  you 
get  more  fun  out  of  them  than  anybody." 

"  Then  you  won't  help  us  about  riding.?  "  asked  Joan. 

"  No,"  said  Dick.  "  All  the  nags  are  wanted  for 
hunting,  and  I'm  not  going  to  advise  the  governor  to 
increase  the  stables." 

Nancy  breathed  a  deep  sigh.  "  It's  all  your  fault, 
Joan,"  she  said.    "  You  don't  know  how  to  treat  a  man. 


38  THE    ELDEST    SON 

You  must  never  blurt  things  out  that  you  want.     You 
must  remember  women  are  a  subject  race." 

"  But  you  won't  mind  our  asking  father,  Dick,  will 
you?  "  pleaded  Joan. 

Dick  gave  his  ultimatum.  "  You'd  better  give  up  the 
idea,"  he  said.  "  And  remember  what  I  told  you  about 
being  on  the  make.  You're  nice  kids,  but  you  want 
keeping  in  order.  I  hope  the  new  lady  will 
do  it." 

"  I  hope  she  will,"  said  Nancy ;  "  but  she's  got  a 
hard  row  to  hoe.  I  can't  help  feeling  a  httle  sorry 
for  her." 

Aunt  Laura  had  taken  up  her  abode  in  a  little  old 
house  on  the  village  street,  with  a  square,  brick-walled 
garden  behind  it.  The  agent  had  occupied  it  before 
the  death  of  Aunt  Ellen,  but  had  now  removed  to  a 
farm  which  was  in  hand. 

They  found  the  old  lady  sitting  by  the  fire  in  her 
parlour,  knitting.  She  was  frail  and  shrunken,  and 
looked  as  if  she  might  not  long  survive  her  transplan- 
tation. Mrs.  Clinton  or  the  twins  came  to  see  her  every 
day,  but  a  visit  from  the  Squire  or  one, of  his  sons,  and 
especially  Dick,  was  an  honour  which  never  failed  mildly 
to  excite  her.  She  was  now  in  a  flurry,  and  told  the 
elderly  maid  who  had  shown  her  visitors  in  to  bring 
wine  and  cake,  in  the  fashion  of  an  earlier  day.  The 
men  of  the  family  never  refused  this  entertainment, 
either  because  they  were  averse  to  wounding  Aunt 
Laura's  susceptibilities,  or  because  they  liked  it. 

"  Well,  I  hope  you've  made  yourself  pretty  com- 
fortable. Aunt  Laura,"  said  Dick  in  a  loud,  clear  voice, 
for  the  old  lady  was  rather  deaf,  although  she  did  not 
like  to  acknowledge  it.  He  was  looking  round  the  room 
as  he  spoke.  Its  panelled  walls  were  painted  light  green, 
and  were  hung  with  coloured  prints.  A  recessed  cup- 
board was  full  of  beautiful  old  china;  but  there  was 
nothing  else  of  much  value  in  the  room,  which  was  fur- 


THE   DOWER-HOUSE  39 

nished  with  a  Victorian  drawing-room  suite  and  a  round 
rosewood  table.  The  old  lady  had  a  pretty  modern 
French  table  by  her  side  with  conveniences  for  her  work 
and  her  books.  She  had  also  her  old  cottage  piano, 
with  a  front  of  fluted  red  silk,  upon  which  she  some- 
times played.  A  canary  hung  in  the  window,  which 
faced  south  and  let  in,  between  the  curtains,  a  stream  of 
wintry  sunshine. 

"  It  is  a  bright  little  house,"  said  Aunt  Laura.  "  I 
sometimes  wish  that  your  dear  Aunt  Ellen  had  spent 
the  last  few  years  of  her  life  here  after  your  dear  Aunt 
Anne  died.  The  dower-house  was  a  very  dear  home  to 
us,  and  we  were  greatly  attached  to  it,  but  in  the  win- 
ter it  was  dark,  and  this  is  much  more  cheerful.  It  is 
cold  to-day,  and  I  am  sitting  over  the  fire,  as  you  see. 
But  I  often  sit  by  the  window  and  see  the  people  going 
by.  You  could  not  do  that  in  the  dower-house,  for 
nobody  did  go  by." 

"  Did  you  bring  all  the  furniture  you  wanted  to  make 
you  comfortable.  Aunt  Laura.?"  asked  Dick. 

Aunt  Laura  looked  up  over  her  spectacles.  "  I  am 
quite  comfortable,  I  thank  you,  Dick,"  she  replied, 
"  although  I  have  not  got  quite  used  to  things  yet.  It 
is  not  to  be  expected  that  I  should,  all  at  once,  at  my 
age,  and  after  having  lived  with  the  same  things  round 
me  for  close  upon  forty  years.  But  your  dear  father 
has  been  kindness  itself,  as  he  always  is,  and  allowed  me 
to  have  all  my  bedroom  furniture  brought  here,  so 
that  in  my  room  upstairs  I  feel  quite  at  home.  And  for 
the  downstairs  rooms  he  told  me  that  any  pictures  or 
china  and  so  forth  that  I  had  a  fancy  for  I  might  have, 
and  I  hope  I  have  not  taken  advantage  of  his  gener- 
osity. I  shall  not  want  the  things  for  very  long,  and 
they  are  being  well  taken  care  of.  He  did  not  want  me 
to  take  any  of  the  furniture,  as  he  said  this  house  was 
furnished  already,  but  he  wanted  me  to  feel  at  home 
here." 


40  THE   ELDEST   SON 

Dick  seemed  to  consider  for  a  moment.  "  If  there's 
anything  special  you  want  in  the  way  of  furniture, 
Aunt  Laura,"  he  said,  "  anything  you've  got  attached 
to  and  like  to  use,  we'll  see  if  we  can't  get  it  brought 
down  for  you." 

"  Well,  of  course,  I  got  attached  to  it  all,"  replied 
Aunt  Laura.  "  But  I  can't  expect  to  have  it  all,  and 
what  is  here  will  do  for  me  very  well.  Hannah  is  mak- 
ing some  pretty  loose  chintz  covers  for  the  chairs  and 
sofa  in  this  room,  which  will  give  it  a  more  home-like 
appearance.  I  do  not  like  the  carpet,  which  is  much 
worn,  as  you  see,  and  was  never  a  very  good  one,  but 
I  have  half  formed  a  plan  of  going  over  to  Bathgate 
when  the  spring  comes  and  seeing  if  I  can  get  one 
something  after  the  pattern  of  that  in  the  morning- 
room  at  the  dower-house,  which  your  aunts  and  I  used 
much  to  admire.  It  was  old  and  somewhat  faded,  but 
its  colours  were  well  blended,  and  I  have  heard  that  it 
was  brought  straight  from  Persia,  where  they  have 
always  made  excellent  carpets,  for  my  grandfather, 
who  was  in  business  in  the  city  of  London.  He  would 
be  your  great-great-grandfather,  and  they  used  to  call 
him  '  Merchant  Jack,'  even  after  he  succeeded  to 
Kencote." 

If  Dick  had  known  the  true  value  of  the  carpet  in 
question  he  might  not  have  offered  to  have  it  sent  down 
for  Aunt  Laura's  use,  but  he  immediately  did  so,  and 
the  old  lady's  gratitude  ought  sufficiently  to  have  re- 
warded him.  "  Now  is  there  anything  else,  Aunt 
Laura  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Well,  as  you  are  so  extremely  kind,  Dick,"  she 
said,  " — and  I  hope  your  dear  father  will  not  mind, 
or  think  that  I  have  been  grasping,  which  I  should  not 
like  after  all  his  generosity — I  think  if  I  might  have 
the  use  of  the  old  bureau  upon  which  your  aunts  and 
I  used  to  write  our  letters  and  in  which  we  used  to  keep 
our  few  business  papers — for  there  was  a  very  good 


THE    DOWER-HOUSE  41 

lock — not  that  there  was  any  necessity  to  lock  things 
up  at  the  dower-house,  for  everything  was  under  Han- 
nah's charge,  and,  although  she  is  apt  to  be  a  little 
flighty  in  her  dress,  and  your  dear  Aunt  Ellen  some- 
times rebuked  her  for  that,  but  always  kindly,  she  was 
quite  reliable,  and  anything  might  have  been  left  about 
in  perfect  safety. — As  I  was  saying,  if  I  might  have 
the  use  of  the  old  bureau  for  as  long  as  I  live — I  should 
not  want  it  longer — I  do  not  think  I  should  regret  any- 
thing, except  of  course  that  jour  dear  aunts  are  all 
gone  now,  and  I  am  the  last  of  them  left." 

Dick  had  prepared  himself,  during  the  foregoing 
speech,  to  promise,  immediately  it  came  to  an  end,  that 
Aunt  Laura  should  have  the  old  bureau,  although  it 
was  a  very  fine  specimen  of  Dutch  marquetry,  and  the 
piece  of  furniture  that  had  struck  him  as  the  most 
desirable  of  all  he  had  just  seen  in  the  dower-house. 
"  Oh,  of  course,  Aunt  Laura,"  he  said.  "  You  shall 
have  the  bureau  and  the  carpet  sent  down  this  after- 
noon.    Then  you'll  feel  quite  at  home,  eh?  " 

"  Well,  perhaps  not  this  afternoon,  Dick,"  replied 
Aunt  Laura.  "  It  might  upset  the  house  for  Sunday 
to  make  a  change,  and  I  should  not  be  quite  ready  to 
superintend  it.  But  on  Monday,  or  even  Tuesday — I 
am  not  particular — I  could  make  ready.  There  is  no 
immediate  hurry.  It  is  enough  for  me  to  know  that 
I  am  to  have  the  things  here,  and  I  shall  think  upon 
them  with  very  great  pleasure.  I'm  sure  I  cannot  thank 
you  enough,  dear  Dick,  for  your  kindness.  It  is  of 
a  piece  with  all  the  rest.  Why,  I  do  not  believe  you 
have  yet  seen  my  beautiful  table.  Children  dear,  see 
here!  Is  it  not  convenient .'^  I  can  place  my  favourite 
book  here  by  my  side,  and  when  I  am  tired  of  reading, 
without  moving  from  my  seat,  I  can  lay  it  down,  and 
there  is  my  work  ready  for  me  underneath,  and  in  this 
pocket,  as  you  see,  are  all  sorts  of  conc^eniences,  such 
as  scissors,  little  tape-measure  in  the  form  of  a  silver 


42  THE   ELDEST   SON 

pig,  and  so  on;  and  here  an  ivory  paper-knife.     It  is 
indeed  a  handsome  present,  is  it  not?  " 

"  It's  lovely.  Aunt  Laura,"  said  Joan.  "  Who  did 
it  come  from  ?  " 

"  On  Thursday,"  replied  Aunt  Laura.  "  Thursday 
morning.  No,  I  am  telling  you  a  story.  It  was 
Thursday  afternoon,  for  Hannah  was  just  about  to 
bring  in  the  tea." 

"  Who  gave  it  you.  Aunt  Laura.?  "  asked  Joan  again. 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you.?  "  said  Aunt  Laura.  "  It  was 
dear  Humphrey.  He  sent  it  down  from  London.  He 
came  in  to  see  me  when  he  was  last  at  Kencote  and 
described  to  me  such  a  table  as  this,  which  I  admit  I 
did  say  I  should  like  to  possess,  but  certainly  with  no 
idea  that  he  would  purchase  one  for  me.  But  there! 
all  you  dear  boys  and  girls  are  full  of  kind  thoughts 
for  your  old  aunt,  and  I  am  sure  it  makes  me  very 
happy  in  my  loss  of  your  dear  Aunt  Ellen  to  think  I 
have  so  much  left  to  be  thankful  for." 

When  the  twins  were  in  their  bedroom  getting  ready 
for  luncheon  Joan  said,  "  I  wonder  why  Humphrey  is 
so  attentive  all  of  a  sudden  to  Aunt  Laura." 

"  There's  more  in  it  than  meets  the  eye,"  said 
Nancy.  "  Did  you  notice  how  surprised  Dick  looked 
when  she  said  Humphrey  gave  it  her.?  And  then  he 
frowned." 

"  I  expect  Dick  thinks  Humphrey  is  too  extravagant. 
It  must  have  been  an  expensive  table.  And  I  know 
Humphrey  has  debts,  because  he  asked  me  to  open  a 
tailor's  bill  that  came  for  him  and  tell  him  the  '  demni- 
tion  total,'  as  he  was  afraid  to  do  it  himself.  It  was 
more  than  a  hundred  pounds,  and  he  said,  '  I  wish  that 
was  the  only  one,  but  if  it  was  I  couldn't  pay  it.'  " 

"  Poor  old  Humphrey !  "  said  Nancy.  "  I  say,  Joan, 
do  you  think  he  is  making  up  to  Aunt  Laura,  so  that 
she  will  pay  his  bills  for  him  ?  " 

"  What   a  beastly   thing   to   say,   Nancy ! "  replied 


THE    DOWER-HOUSE  43 

Joan.  "  Of  course,  none  of  the  boys  would  do  a  thing 
like  that.     Besides,  Aunt  Laura  hasn't  got  any  money." 

"  No,  I  don't  suppose  so,"  said  Nancy  reflectively. 
"  I  expect  father  gives  her  an  allowance,  poor  old 
darling !  " 

But  Aunt  Laura  had  money.  She  had  the  thirty-six 
thousand  pounds  which  her  father  had  left  to  her  and 
her  sisters,  and  she  had,  besides,  the  savings  of  all  six 
ladies  through  a  considerable  number  of  years. 


CHAPTER  V 


LADY    GEORGE 


The  Squire  had  a  touch  of  rheumatism,  and  was  an- 
noyed about  it,  but  also  inclined  to  give  Providence  due 
credit  for  so  visiting  him,  if  he  must  be  visited  at  all, 
at  a  time  of  hard  frost.  "  If  I  coddle  myself  up  to- 
day and  perhaps  to-morrow,"  he  said  over  the  luncheon 
table,  "  I  shall  be  able  to  hunt  all  right  on  Monday, 
if  the  frost  breaks.  I  suppose  you  wouldn't  care  to 
go  over  those  Deepdene  Farm  figures  this  afternoon, 
Dick,  eh.?" 

"  We  might  have  an  hour  with  them  before  dinner," 
rephed  Dick.  "  I  thought  of  riding  over  to  Mountfield 
to  see  Jim  this  afternoon.     I  want  a  little  exercise." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  will  find  Jim  in,"  said 
Mrs.  Clinton.  "  Muriel,  and  I  think  Mrs.  Graham,  are 
coming  over  here  this  afternoon." 

"  I'll  take  my  chance,"  said  Dick. 

The  twins  saw  him  off  from  the  hall  door.  He  rode 
a  tall  bay  horse,  which  danced  with  impatience  on  the 
hard  gravel  of  the  drive  as  he  looked  him  over,  drawing 
on  his  gloves. 

"Dear  old  Cicero!  doesn't  he  look  a  beauty.?"  said 
Nancy.     "  What  was  his  figure,  Dick.?  " 

"  You  will  never  be  able  to  get  on  him,"  said  Joan. 
"  Shall  I  bring  a  chair?  " 

But  Dick  was  up  and  cantering  over  the  crisp  grass 
of  the  park,  managing  his  nervous  powerful  mount  as 
if  he  and  the  horse  were  of  one  frame  and  as  if  nothing 
could  separate  them. 

"  He  does  look  jolly,"  said  Joan  admiringly. 

"  He's  a  good  man  on  a  horse,"  acquiesced  Nancy. 

44 


LADY    GEORGE  45 

"  All  the  boys  are.  So  they  ought  to  be.  They  think 
about  nothing  else." 

"  You  know,  I  think  Dick  is  just  the  sort  of  man 
a  girl  might  fall  in  love  with,"  said  Joan.  "  He's  very 
good-looking,  and  he  has  just  that  sort  of  way  with 
him,  as  if  he  didn't  care  for  anybody." 

"  I  expect  lots  of  girls  have  fallen  in  love  with  him. 
The  question  is  whether  he  is  ever  going  to  fall  in  love 
with  them.  I'm  inclined  to  think  he's  turning  it  over 
in  his  mind.  I  dare  say  you  were  blinded  by  all  that 
business  at  the  dower-house  this  morning.  I  wasn't. 
You  mark  my  word,  Joan,  Dick  is  going  to  get 
married." 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder.  He's  grown  softer  somehow. 
See  how  interested  he  was  in  the  kitchen.  Who  do  you 
think  it  is,  Nancy?  " 

"My  dear!  Don't  you  know  that.?  It's  Grace 
Ettien.  Didn't  you  notice  what  a  fuss  father  made 
of  her  when  she  last  come  over?  Took  her  all  round, 
and  almost  gat^e  her  the  place.  He  doesn't  treat  girls 
like  that  as  a  rule." 

"  You  didn't  say  so  at  the  time." 

"  No ;  but  I've  put  two  and  two  together  since.  You 
see  if  I'm  not  right.  By  this  time  next  year  the  dower- 
house  will  be  occupied  by  Captain  and  Lady  Grace 
Clinton — and  oh,  Joan  !  perhaps  there'll  be  another  baby 
in  the  family  !  " 

The  ecstasy  of  the  twins  at  this  prospect  was  broken 
into  by  Miss  Bird,  who  appeared  behind  them  in  the 
doorway  and  promised  them  their  deaths  of  cold  if  they 
did  not  come  indoors  at  once. 

In  the  meantime  Dick  was  trotting  along  the  hard 
country  lanes,  between  the  silent  silvered  winter  woods 
and  the  frozen  fields,  always  with  an  eye  about  him  to 
see  what  things  of  fur  and  feather  might  share  with 
him  the  winter  solitude,  what  was  doing  in  the  hard- 
bound soil,  and  what  in  the  clear  spaces  of  the  air.     He 


46  THE   ELDEST   SON 

had  the  eye  of  the  countryman,  trained  from  boyhood 
to  observe  and  asshnilate.  He  had  lived  for  years  the 
hfe  of  court  and  camp,  had  adapted  himself  as  readily 
to  the  turmoil  of  London  gaieties  as  to  regimental 
duties  in  other  stations  at  home  and  abroad,  or  to 
months  of  campaigning  in  Egypt  and  South  Africa. 
He  had  skimmed  the  cream  of  all  such  experiences  as 
had  come  in  his  way,  but  here  in  the  depths  of  the 
English  country,  just  here  where  his  ancestors  had 
lived  for  generation  after  generation,  were  placed  the 
foundations  of  his  Hfe.  Here  he  was  at  home,  as  no- 
where else  in  the  world.  All  the  rest  was  mere  accident 
of  time  and  place,  of  no  account  as  compared  with  this 
one  spot  of  English  soil.  Here  alone  he  was  based  and 
firmly  rooted. 

Mountfield  lay  about  four  miles  from  Kencote,  and 
the  two  estates  marched,  although  the  one  was  small  as 
compared  with  the  other.  Two  years  before,  Jim 
Graham,  the  owner  of  Mountfield,  had  married  Cicely 
Chnton,  and  his  only  sister  just  before  that  had  mar- 
ried Walter  Clinton,  the  doctor  of  Melbury  Park,  where 
the  Squire  was  so  averse  to  looking  for  an  heir.  So 
the  Clintons  and  the  Grahams  were  bound  together  by 
close  ties,  and  there  was  much  coming  and  going  be- 
tween the  two  houses. 

Cicely's  carriage  was  before  the  door  as  Dick  rode 
up,  and  she  herself  came  out  as  he  dismounted.  She 
looked  very  pretty  in  her  thick  furs,  young  and  fresh, 
and  matronly  at  the  same  time. 

"  Oh,  Dick,  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said.  "  Have 
you  come  to  see  Jim.''  I'm  afraid  he's  gone  over  to 
Bathgate,  and  won't  be  back  for  some  time." 

"  H'm !  That's  a  bore,"  said  Dick.  "  You're  going 
over  to  Kencote,  aren't  you.  Siskin  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I'm  going  to  fetch  Mrs.  Graham  and  drive 
her  over.    But  do  come  in  for  a  minute  or  two." 

"  Oughtn't  to  keep  the  horses  long  in  this  weather," 


LADY    GEORGE  47 

said  Dick.  "  Drive  'cm  about  for  a  few  minutes,  Car- 
ter. I'll  just  come  in  and  throw  my  eye  over  the  babies, 
Siskin." 

Cicely's  face  brightened.  She  led  the  way  into  her 
morning-room,  and  turned  to  kiss  her  brother,  her 
hands  on  his  shoulders.  "  Dear  old  Dick !  "  she  said. 
"  Do  you  really  want  to  see  the  babies?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  he  replied.  "  You've  given  us 
the  taste  for  them  over  at  Kencote.  The  Twankies 
foam  at  the  mouth  with  pleasure  whenever  the  babies 
are  mentioned,  and  even  the  governor  looks  as  if  a  Hght 
were  switched  on  in  his  face  when  anything  is  said 
about  them." 

Cicely  rang  the  bell.  "  He  is  a  doting  grandfather," 
she  said,  with  a  smile.  "  I  would  take  them  over  this 
afternoon,  but  it's  too  cold." 

"  Nice  room,  this ! "  said  Dick,  looking  round  him. 
"  Are  you  glad  to  be  settled  down  in  the  country  again. 
Sis.?" 

"  Yes.  Awfully  glad,"  she  said.  "  I  hated  London, 
really.  At  least,  I  Hked  meeting  the  people,  but  you 
can  only  feel  at  home  in  the  country." 

"  There  was  a  time,"  said  Dick. 

She  blushed.  "Oh,  don't  talk  about  that,  Dick," 
she  said,  in  some  distress.  "  I  was  all  wrong.  I  didn't 
know  what  I  wanted.  I  know  now.  I  want  just  this, 
and  Jim,  and  the  babies.  I  was  overjoyed  when  our 
two  years  in  London  were  up,  and  Jim  said  we  could 
come  back  here  if  we  kept  quiet  and  lived  carefully. 
Here  they  are — the  darlings  !  " 

The  tiny  morsels  of  lace  and  silk-clad  humanity — 
Dick,  the  boy,  Nina,  the  baby  girl — who  were  brought 
into  the  room  in  charge  of  a  staid  elderly  smiling  nurse, 
looked  as  happy  babies  ought  to  look — as  if  they  be- 
longed to  the  house  and  the  house  belonged  to  them. 
Dick  took  up  his  namesake  and  godson  in  his  arms  and 
his  keen  face  softened.     "  He's  getting  a  great  little 


48  THE    ELDEST    SON 

man,"  he  said.     "  When  are  jou  going  to  cut  his  hair, 
Cicely?" 

Cicely  scouted  the  idea.  "  Men  are  always  in  such 
a  hurry,"  she  said.  "  Dick,  you  ought  to  marry  and 
have  babies  of  your  own." 

"  Ah,  well !  perhaps  I  shall  some  day,"  said  Dick. 
''  Now  I  must  be  pushing  on,  and  you  oughtn't  to  keep 
the  horses  waiting.  Sis.     Good-bye,  little  chap." 

"Aren't  you  coming  back  to  Kencote.? "  Cicely 
asked. 

"  Not  just  yet.  Going  to  hack  a  few  more  miles.  I 
haven't  been  on  a  horse  for  three  weeks." 

So  Cicely  got  into  her  carriage  and  Dick's  horse  was 
brought  round,  and  they  went  off  in  different  directions. 

Cicely  picked  up  her  mother-in-law  at  her  house  just 
outside  the  park.  Mrs.  Graham  was  waiting  for  her 
at  her  garden  gate,  in  company  with  a  deerhound,  a 
spaniel,  and  an  Irish  terrier.  She  had  on  a  coat  and 
skirt  of  thick  tweed,  and  a  cloth  hat  with  a  cock's 
feather. 

"  I  suppose  there  won't  be  a  tea-party,"  she  said,  as 
she  got  into  the  carriage.  "  I  did  intend  to  put  on 
smart  clothes,  but  I  found  I  couldn't  be  bothered  when 
the  time  came.  They  must  take  me  in  my  rags  or  not 
at  all.     You  look  smart  enough,  my  girl." 

"  If  I  had  your  figure,"  said  Cicely,  "  I  should  never 
want  to  wear  an3^thing  but  country  clothes." 

"  Ah !  now  that's  very  nice  of  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Graham.  "  I  do  wear  well  for  fifty-three,  and  I'm  not 
going  to  deny  it.  My  face  is  a  bit  battered,  of  course. 
I  must  expect  that,  riding  and  tramping  about  in  all 
weathers.  But  I'm  as  fit  as  if  I  were  thirty  years 
younger,  and  I  don't  know  what  more  you  can  ask  of 
life — unless  it's  to  have  your  own  people  round  you 
instead  of  a  pack  of  molly-coddles." 

Cicely  laughed.  Jim  Graham  had  let  Mountfield  for 
two  years  after  their  marriage  to  a  rich  and  childless 


LADY   GEORGE  49 

couple,  who  spent  most  of  their  time  in  working  at 
embroidery,  and  motoring  about  the  country  in  a 
closed-in  car,  for  neither  of  which  pursuits  Mrs. 
Graham  had  found  it  in  her  heart  to  forgive  them. 

"  Well,  thej/'^Yc  gone,"  she  said.  "  And  thank  good- 
ness for  it.  I  should  have  let  the  Lodge  and  gone  away 
myself  if  they  had  stayed  here  any  longer.  Cumberers 
of  the  ground,  I  call  them,  and  what  they  wanted  with 
a  country  house  beats  me.  But  you  never  know  who 
you're  going  to  get  for  neighbours  nowadays.  By  the 
by,  have  you  heard  that  old  Parson  Marsh  has  let 
Blay thorn  Rectory  for  the  hunting  season.^" 

Blaythorn  was  about  three  miles  from  Mountfield,  on 
the  opposite  side  to  Kencote.  Cicely  had  not  heard 
this  piece  of  news. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  "  and  to  a  lady  of  title, 
my  dear — Lady  George  Dubec — no  less.  I  haven't  the 
ghost  of  an  idea  who  she  is.  But  no  doubt  your  father 
will  know.  He  is  a  regular  walking  peerage — knows 
who  everybody  is  and  whom  everybody  has  married  to 
the  third  and  fourth  generation.  What  accommoda- 
tion poor  old  Parson  Marsh  has  for  hunters  I  don't 
know.  I  should  think  the  lady  must  have  been  done 
in  the  eye.  And  as  for  the  house — the  last  time  I  was 
in  it  it  smelt  so  of  dogs  and  tobacco-smoke  that  even  I 
couldn't  put  up  with  it,  and  Lord  knows  I'm  not 
particular." 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Marsh  going  to  live.''  "  asked  Cicely. 

"  Oh,  I  believe  he  has  sacked  his  curate  on  the 
strength  of  it,  and  has  taken  his  rooms.  I  don't  know 
why  he  should  have  wanted  a  curate  at  all,  except  that 
he's  so  bone-idle,  and  I'm  sure  he  can't  afford  one.  He 
owes  Joynes  the  butcher  over  forty  pounds.  But,  good 
gracious,  Cicely,  don't  encourage  me  to  gossip.  I'm 
getting  a  regular  old  hag.  It's  the  influence  of  your 
late  tenants,  my  dear.  They  loved  village  tittle-tattle, 
and  I  had  to  join  in  with  it  whenever  we  met,  because 


50  THE    ELDEST    SON 

there  was  nothing  else  in  the  wide  world  I  could  talk  to 
them  about.  The  worst  of  it  is  I  was  acquiring  quite 
a  taste  for  scandal.  But  I've  turned  over  a  new  leaf. 
So  has  old  Marsh  I  suppose,  and  is  going  to  pay  up  all 
his  debts.     I  wish  him  well  over  his  difficulties." 

With  such  sprightly  talk  did  Mrs.  Graham  pass  away 
the  time  till  they  reached  Kencote,  when  she  began  all 
over  again  with  Mrs.  Clinton  as  audience.  Cicely  had 
gone  upstairs  to  see  the  twins  and  Miss  Bird,  and  Mrs. 
Graham  asked  point-blank  that  Mr.  Clinton  might  be 
informed  of  her  arrival.  "  I  have  lots  to  tell  him,"  she 
said,  "  and  I  want  to  ask  him  some  questions  besides." 

Mrs.  Clinton  rang  the  bell,  without  saying  anything, 
and  a  footman  was  sent  with  a  message  to  the  Squire, 
who  presently  came  in,  bluff  and  hearty,  but  walking 
with  a  slight  list. 

"  Ah,  Mrs.  Graham ! "  he  said  as  he  shook  hands. 
"  Come  to  cheer  us  up  with  a  little  gossip — what.''  But 
where  are  the  grandchildren .''  " 

"  Dear  me !  I  forgot  to  ask,"  said  Mrs.  Graham. 
*'  I  suppose  it  is  too  cold  for  them.  But  I've  brought 
the  dogs,  Mr.  Clinton." 

"  Oh,  the  dogs ! "  said  the  Squire,  with  his  loud 
laugh.     "  No  dogs  in  this  house." 

"  I  know,"  said  Mrs.  Graham.  "  And  it's  such  a  mis- 
take. Kencote  is  the  only  country  house  I  know  where 
there  isn't  a  dog  indoors.  I  never  feel  that  it's  prop- 
erly inhabited." 

"  It  was  swarming  with  them  in  my  grandfather's 
time,"  said  the  Squire,  "  and  I  dare  say  would  be  now 
if  that  mongrel  hadn't  gone  for  Dick  when  he  was  a 
little  fellow.  Always  kept  'em  outside  since.  Outside 
is  the  place  for  a  dog." 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you,"  said  Mrs.  Graham.  "  And 
it  isn't  like  a  sportsman  to  say  so.  However,  we  needn't 
quarrel  about  that.  Who  is  Lady  George  Dubec,  Mr. 
Clinton.?" 


LADY   GEORGE  61 

"  Lady  George  Dubec  ?  "  repeated  the  Squire.  "  I 
suppose  she's  the  wife — or  the  widow  rather — of  George 
Dubec,  the  Duke  of  Queenstown's  brother,  and  a  pretty 
good  rascal  he  was.  Got  killed  in  a  railway  accident 
in  America  two  or  three  years  ago,  and  it  was  the  best 
thing  that  could  have  happened  to  him.  Wish  they'd 
kill  off  a  few  more  like  him.  I  didn't  know  he  was 
married.     Why  do  you  ask.^^" 

"  She  has  taken  Blaythorn  Rectory  to  hunt  from. 
She  came  down  yesterday  or  the  day  before." 

"  Blaythorn  Rectory  !  To  hunt  from  !  "  exclaimed 
the  Squire.  "  Well,  that's  the  most  extraordinary 
thing !  Are  there  any  stables  there  ?  I  never  heard 
of  Marsh  keeping  anything  but  an  old  pony,  and  the 
whole  place  must  be  in  the  depths  of  dilapidation." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.  But  there  she  is.  And  you 
don't  know  who  she  is.  I  thought  you  knew  who  every- 
body was,  Mr.  Clinton." 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  said  the  Squire,  and  he  went  over 
to  a  table  where  there  were  books  of  reference.  "  No, 
there's  no  marriage  here,"  he  said,  turning  over  the 
pages  of  one  of  them,  "  except  his  first  marriage  thirty 
years  ago.  Poor  Lady  Bertha  Grange  that  was,  and  he 
drove  her  into  her  grave  within  five  years.  The  fellow 
was  a  brute  and  a  blackleg.  I  was  at  school  with  him, 
and  he  was  sacked.  And  I  was  at  Cambridge  with  him 
and  he  was  sent  down,  for  some  disgraceful  business, 
1  forget  what.  Then  he  was  in  the  Guards,  and  had 
to  clear  out  of  the  service  within  a  year  for  some 
precious  shady  racing  transaction.  The  fellow  had 
every  possible  chance,  and  he  couldn't  run  straight. 
He  went  abroad  after  that,  but  used  to  turn  up  occa- 
sionally. Nobody  would  have  anything  to  do  with 
him.  I  believe  he  settled  down  in  America,  if  he  could 
ever  be  said  to  settle  down  anywhere.  I  know  he  was 
in  some  scandalous  divorce  case.  One  used  to  hear  his 
name    come    up    occasionally,    and    always    in    an    un- 


5^  THE   ELDEST   SON 

savoury  sort  of  way.  He  was  a  wrong  'un,  through 
and  through,  but  a  good-lookmg  blackguard  in  his 
young  days,  and  women  used  to  stick  up  for  him." 

"  Well,  he  seems  to  be  better  out  of  the  world  than 
in  it,"  said  Mrs.  Graham.  "  But  what  about  his  widow? 
You  say  she  isn't  down  there." 

"  No,  but  this  book  is  out  of  date.  I've  got  a  later 
one  in  my  room.     I'll  send  for  it." 

The  new  book  gave  the  information  required.  Lord 
George  Dubec  had  married  five  years  before  Miss  Vir- 
ginia Vanreden,  of  Philadelphia. 

"  Oh,  an  American !  "  said  Mrs.  Graham.  "  Well,  I 
suppose  I  must  go  and  call  on  her.  Even  if  I  don't 
like  her  I  shall  be  doing  my  duty  to  my  neighbours  in 
providing  thera  with  gossip.  Not  that  I  like  gossip — 
I  detest  it.  Still,  one  must  find  ^ow^thing  to  talk  about. 
Shall  you  call  on  her,  Mrs.  Clinton?  " 

The  Squire  answered.  "  Oh,  I  think  not,"  he  said. 
"  I  don't  like  hunting — er !  hum !  ha !  " 

"  You  don't  like  hunting  women,"  said  Mrs.  Graham 
imperturbably.  "  I  know  you  don't,  Mr.  CHnton. 
That's  another  point  between  us.  But  we're  very  good 
friends  all  the  same." 

"  Oh,  of  course,  of  course,"  said  the  Squire. 
"  Nearly  put  my  foot  in  it  that  time,  Mrs.  Graham, 
eh  ?  Ha !  ha !  Well,  with  such  old  friends  one  can 
afford  to  make  a  mistake  or  two.  No,  I  think  we'll  leave 
Lady  George  Dubec  alone.  She  won't  be  here  long,  and 
I've  no  wish  to  be  mixed  up  with  anybody  belonging 
to  George  Dubec — alive  or  dead.  I  had  the  utmost  con- 
tempt for  the  fellow.  Besides,  I  don't  like  Americans, 
and  any  woman  who  would  have  married  him  after  the 
life  he'd  led  .  .  .  well,  she  may  be  all  right,  but  I  don't 
want  to  know  her — that's  all.  I  should  like  to  know, 
though,  how  she  got  hold  of  Blaythorn  Rectory,  of  all 
places,  or  why  she  has  come  to  Meadshire  to  hunt.  The 
country  pleases  us  all  right,  and  we're  quite  content 


LADV   GEORGE  53 

with  our  sport,  but  we're  not  generally  honoured  by 
strangers  in  that  way." 

"  I  dare  say  I  can  find  out  all  about  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Graham.     "  And  when  I  do  I'll  let  you  know." 

Cicely  was  sitting  on  the  great  roomy  shabby  sofa 
in  the  schoolroom,  with  a  twin  on  cither  side  of  her, 
and  Miss  Bird  upright  in  the  corner,  alternately  tatting 
feverishly  a  pattern  of  lace  thread  and  dabbing  her 
eyes  with  her  handkerchief.  For  the  subject  of  con- 
versation was  her  approaching  departure,  and,  as  she 
said,  with  all  the  kindness  that  had  been  showered  on 
her  and  the  affection  that  she  felt  she  never  would 
lose,  it  was  no  use  pretending  that  she  was  glad  she 
was  going  away,  for  she  was  not,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
very  sorry. 

"  Nancy  and  I  are  going  to  write  to  her  once  a  week 
regularly,"  said  Joan.  "  We  did  think  of  writing  every 
day  at  first,  but  we  probably  shouldn't  keep  it  up." 

''  The  spirit  is  willing,  but  the  flesh  might  be  weak," 
said  Nancy.  "  And  there's  no  sense  in  overdoing 
things.  Anyhow,  we  have  promised  that  we  will  never 
love  Miss  Prim  half  as  much  as  we  love  our  darling 
Starling,  and  she  is  pleased  at  that,  aren't  you.  Starling 
darling.^  " 

"  Of  course  I  am  pleased  to  be  loved,"  replied  Miss 
Bird ;  "  but  indeed,  Nancy,  I  should  not  like  you  to  set 
yourself  against  your  new  governess  on  my  account ; 
it  is  not  necessary  and  you  can  love  one  person  without 
visiting  it  on  another  and  I  do  not  like  you  to  call  her 
Miss  Prim." 

"  She  is  sure  to  be,"  said  Nancy  elliptically.  "  We 
must  call  her  something,  and  that's  as  good  a  name  as 
any  till  we  see  what  she  is  like." 

"  If  you  don't  treat  her  respectfully  she  won't  stay," 
said  Cicely. 

"  We  haven't  treated  Starling  respectfully,  but  she 
has  stayed  all  right,"  said  Joan.     "  I  suppose  you  know 


54     .  THE   ELDEST   SON 

we  are  going  to  have  lessons  besides,  Sis — drawing,  and 
music,  and  deportment,  and  all  sorts  of  things." 

*' Oh,  we're  going  to  be  well  finished  off  while  we're 
about  it,"  said  Nancy.  "  We  shall  be  ready  to  fill  any 
position,  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest." 

"  We  shall  be  the  ornament  of  every  drawing-room 
to  which  We  are  introduced,"  said  Joan.  "  I  think  we're 
worth  polishing  off  handsomely,  don't  you.  Sis?  Have 
you  noticed  how  awfully  pretty  we're  getting.?" 

"  Now  that  is  a  thing,"  broke  in  Miss  Bird,  "  that 
no  well-brought-up  girl  ought  to  say  of  herself,  Joan." 

"  But,  Starling  darling,  it's  true,  and  you  can't  deny 
it,"  replied  Joan.  "  We  must  tell  the  truth,  mustn't  we.?  " 

"  The  new  booking-clerk  at  the  station  casts  admir- 
ing glances  at  us,"  said  Nancy.  "  At  first  it  made  us 
uncomfortable;  we  thought  we  must  have  smuts  on 
our  noses.  But  at  last  we  tumbled  to  it.  Cicely,  we  are 
loved,  not  only  for  our  worth,  but  our  beauty." 

"  You  are  a  couple  of  donkeys,"  said  Cicely,  laugh- 
ing. "  Well,  I'm  glad  you're  going  to  apply  yourselves 
to  learning,  although  it's  a  dreadful  thing  to  be  losing 
our  dear  old  Starling.     Kencote  will  be  quite  changed." 

"  There  are  many  changes  coming  about  at  Ken- 
cote," said  Nancy.  "  Joan  and  I  can  feel  them  in  the 
air.  We'll  let  you  know  when  there's  anything  more  to 
tell  you.  Cicely." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Cicely.  "  I  think  I 
had  better  go  downstairs  now." 

The  twins  went  with  her,  and  on  the  stairs  Cicely 
said,  "  I  didn't  like  to  say  it  before  Starling,  but  I 
think  you're  awfully  lucky  children,  to  be  going  to  be 
taught  things.  /  never  was.  I  do  hope  you'll  take 
advantage  of  it." 

"  Oh,  I  do  hope  we  shall,"  said  Joan.  "  It  is  such 
a  chance  for  us.    We  feel  that." 

"  Deeply,"  acquiesced  Nancy.  "  If  we  ijop't  we 
{shall  nevef  forgive  ourselves— nev^r," 


CHAPTER  VI 

BLAYTHORN    RECTORY 

Dick,  when  he  had  left  Mountfield,  trotted  on  at  a 
slightly  faster  pace  than  he  had  hitherto  come,  in  the 
direction  of  Blaythorn,  and  did  not  draw  rein  until  he 
came  to  that  rectory  concerning  whose  occupancy  his 
relations  and  connections  were  so  exercised.  It  was  a 
dull  house,  with  a  short,  weed-grown  drive  behind  a 
rather  shabby  brick  wall  and  an  overgrown  shrubbery, 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  village.  He  got  off  his  horse 
and  rang  the  bell,  which  was  presently  answered  by  a 
smart  parlourmaid,  who  gave  him  a  discreet  smile  of 
welcome,  and  whisked  off  at  his  request,  with  a  flourish 
of  petticoats,  to  fetch  a  gi'oom  from  the  stableyard 
hard  by.  Then  she  showed  him  into  the  drawing-room, 
where  two  women  were  sitting  by  the  fire,  one  of  whom 
rose  to  greet  him  with  an  exclamation  of  pleasure,  while 
the  other  gathered  up  her  work  deliberately  and  pre- 
pared to  leave  the  room. 

Lady  George  Dubec  was  a  tall,  slender  woman  in  the 
early  thirties,  or  possibly  only  in  the  late  twenties. 
Her  face  was  a  little  worn,  but  her  eyes  were  deep  and 
lustrous,  and  her  features  delicate.  When  she  smiled 
she  was  beautiful.  Her  dark  hair  was  elaborately 
braided;  her  slim  figure  looked  well  in  a  black  gown 
of  soft  folds.  She  had  thin,  almost  transparent  hands, 
covered  with  jewels.  She  moved  gracefully,  and  her 
voice  was  low,  but  clear  and  musical,  with  only  the 
suspicion  of  an  un-English  intonation. 

"  Oh,  Dick,  what  a  godsend  you  are,"  she  said  as 
she  gave  him  both  her  hands.     "  Toby  and  I  were  won- 

65 


56  THE    ELDEST   SON 

dering  how  on  earth  we  were  going  to  get  through  the 
rest  of  the  afternoon  and  evening." 

"  I  w^asn't  wondering  at  all,"  said  the  other  lady, 
who  had  now  also  risen  and  shaken  hands  with  the  vis- 
itor. "  I  knew  you  would  come.  So  did  Virginia, 
really.  We  were  talking  about  you.  I  will  now  retire 
to  another  apartment  and  leave  you  alone." 

"  Indeed  you'll  do  no  such  thing,"  said  Virginia 
Dubec,  taking  her  by  the  shoulders  and  pushing  her 
back  into  her  chair.  "  We  will  have  the  lights  and  tea 
— although  it  is  early — and  a  talk  of  three  together. 
We're  all  friends,  and  you're  not  going  to  sit  alone." 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Dick.  "  A  nice  sort  of  state 
you'd  work  yourself  up  into  against  me !  I  know  you. 
Miss  Dexter." 

She  took  her  seat  again  and  unrolled  her  work.  She 
was  short  and  rather  plain,  with  sandy-coloured  hair 
and  square-tipped  fingers.  She  had  not  smiled  since 
Dick  had  entered  the  room. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  deny  that  I'm  jealous,"  she  said.  "  I've 
had  her  to  myself  for  three  years,  and  you  have  come 
and  stolen  her  away  from  me.  But  it's  a  harmless  sort 
of  jealousy.  It  doesn't  make  me  object  to  you.  It 
only  makes  me  wonder  sometimes." 

"  What  do  you  wonder.''  "  asked  Dick,  standing  up 
before  the  fire  and  looking  down  at  her  with  a  glance 
that  immediately  transferred  itself  to  her  companion, 
on  whom  his  eyes  rested  with  an  expression  that  had  a 
hint  of  hunger   in   it. 

Virginia  answered  for  her.  "  She  wonders  what  there 
is  in  a  man  for  a  woman  to  cling  to — and  especially 
after  my  experience.  She  thinks  a  woman's  friendship 
ought  to  be  enough.  She  wants  no  other.  We  talk 
over  these  things  together,  but  we  don't  quarrel.  She 
knows  that  I  shall  always  love  her,  don't  you, 
Toby?" 

"  Perhaps  I  do,  perhaps  I  don't,"  said  Miss  Dexter. 


BLAYTHORN    RECTORY  67 

"  But  we  needn't  discuss  these  matters  before  Captain 
Dick.     I'll  ring  for  the  lights  and  the  tea." 

Dick  breathed  an  inaudible  sigh  of  relief.  He  was 
not  at  home  in  the  discussions  of  abstract  questions. 
''  How  do  you  find  yourself  here,  Virginia?  "  he  asked, 
looking  round  him.  "  You  have  made  this  room  very 
jolly,  anyhow." 

"  That's  what  Mr.  Marsh  said,  in  his  own  particular 
way,"  she  said,  with  a  smile.  "  He  said,  '  If  I'd  known 
a  woman  could  do  this  sort  of  thing  to  a  house,  I'd 
have  married  a  wife  years  ago.'  " 

"  And  of  course  Virginia  immediately  suggested  he 
should  marry  me,"  said  Miss  Dexter.  "  She  is  so  gen- 
erous with  her  belongings." 

"  It  made  us  very  good  friends,"  said  Lady  George. 
"A  joke  of  that  sort  always  does.  We  shall  carry  it 
on  till  the  end  of  my  tenancy,  and  then  he  will  propose 
to  Toby.     You'll  see,  Dick." 

"  I  shouldn't  blame  him,"  said  Dick.  "  The  stables 
aren't  so  very  bad,  are  they?" 

"  Oh,  Wilson  says  they'll  do.  But  I  wish  you  had 
been  able  to  get  me  a  brighter  house,  Dick.  It  is  rather 
depressing,  in  spite  of  all  my  furbishing  and  knick- 
knacks." 

"  My  dear  girl,  it  was  absolutely  the  only  one  within 
reach.  We  don't  let  houses  for  hunting  hereabouts. 
You  wait  till  you  see  the  dower-house.  I  was  there 
this  morning,  and  really  I'd  no  idea  what  a  jolly  little 
place  it  is.  With  the  few  alterations  I'm  going  to  make, 
and  all  the  jolly  old  furniture,  it  will  be  a  topping 
place.     You'll  fall  in  love  with  it,  Virginia." 

She  sighed.  "  There  are  some  fences  to  take  before 
we  land  up  there,"  she  said.  "  I'm  rather  frightened 
about  it  all,  Dick.  When  will  your  mother  come  and 
see  me  ?     Have  you  told  her  I  am  here  yet  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  said  shortly.  "  I  shall  tell  them  this 
evening." 


58  THE    ELDEST    SON 

Miss  Dexter  dropped  her  work  in  her  lap  with  a  ges- 
ture of  impatience,  and  looked  up  at  him.  "  Why 
haven't  you  told  them  ?  "  she  asked.  ^'  Are  you  ashamed 
of  her.?" 

Dick's  face  flushed  and  his  lips  tightened.  "  That 
isn't  a  proper  question  to  ask,  Miss  Dexter,"  he  said. 
"  I  know  what  I'm  about,  and  so  does  Virginia." 

"  My  dear  Toby,  for  goodness'  sake  don't  make  him 
angry,"  said  Lady  George.  "  I'm  frightened  of  him 
when  he  looks  like  that." 

Dick  forced  a  smile.  "  My  father  is  a  good  sort, 
but  he  wants  managing,"  he  said.  "  I'll  state  the  case 
quite  plainly  once  more,  as  Miss  Dexter  sees  fit  to  ques- 
tion my   action." 

"  Oh,  good  gracious !  "  put  in  that  lady,  "  I'm  not 
worth  all  these  heavy  guns." 

"  Toby.!    Toby  !  "  expostulated  her  friend. 

The  maid  came  in  at  that  moment  with  a  lamp  and 
stayed  to  draw  curtains  and  light  candles.  Dick  dis- 
lodged himself  from  his  stand  in  front  of  the  fire  and 
took  a  chair,  but  left  it  to  the  two  women  to  carry  on 
a  desultory  conversation  until  they  were  left  alone 
again.  Then  he  rose  once  more.  ''  Look  here,"  he 
said.  "  We've  got  to  have  this  out  once  for  all.  I'm 
not  going  to  be  twitted  for  my  actions.  Miss  Dexter." 

"  Well,  please  have  it  out,"  she  said.   "  I'm  listening." 

"  You  are  the  most  tiresome  creature  in  the  world," 
said  Lady  George. 

"  I  don't  want  to  say  anything  to  hurt  you,  Vir- 
ginia," Dick  went  on,  "  but  the  name  you  bear  would 
set  my  father  against  you — violently." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Dick !  "  she  said,  "  you  don't  hurt  me 
in  the  least,  but  why  go  into  all  that.^^  We  understand 
each  other.     Toby,  I  feel  as  if  I  could  beat  you." 

"  Well,"  said  Dick.  "  I  won't  say  any  more  about 
that,  but  you  have  got  to  remember  it.  But  there  are 
prejudices  to  get  over  besides.     He  wants  me  to  make 


BLxVYTHORN    RECTORY  59 

the  usual  sort  of  marriage  with  a — oh,  you  know  the 
sort  of  female  child  fellows  like  me  are  supposed  to 
marry — his  mind  is  running  on  it  now,  and  he  actually 
tackled  me  about  it  last  night.  He's  got  the  young 
person  all  ready — that's  the  sort  of  man  he  is — my 
cousin,  Grace  Ettien.  I  said,  No,  thank  you,  and  I 
told  him  I  didn't  want  to  marry  a  youngster — wouldn't, 
anyway.  It's  no  good  beating  about  the  bush,  Virginia 
— until  he  sees  you — until  he  sees  you,  mind — you  don't 
fill  the  bill." 

"  That's  a  pleasant  way  of  putting  it,"  said  Miss 
Dexter. 

"  I  won't  have  another  word,"  said  Lady  George 
decisively.  "  You  two  are  just  annoying  each  other. 
Dick,  my  dear,  I  think  it's  just  sweet  of  you  to  put  all 
your  faith  in  that  seeing  of  me.  I  adore  you  for  it. 
It  eases  all  my  spiritual  aches  and  pains.  Toby,  you 
irritating  creature,  can't  you  see  how  lovely  it  is  of 
him.'^  If  he  were  all  wrong  about  having  me  come  down 
here,  I  shouldn't  care.  He  has  done  it  because  he 
believes  in  his  heart  of  hearts  that  his  people  have  only 
got  to  set  eyes  on  me  and  all  their  objections  will  van- 
ish into  thin  air." 

"  I  don't  say  that  quite — I  don't  know,"  said  Dick. 

"  Well,  you  needn't  go  and  spoil  it,"  said  Miss  Dex- 
ter. "  I  was  just  going  to  say  that  it  did  make  up  for 
a  good  deal." 

"  Look  here.  Miss  Dexter,"  said  Dick.  "  If  I  were 
to  go  and  tell  my  father  straight  off  that  I  am  going 
to  marry  Virginia  he  would  be  all  over  bristles  at  once. 
All  the  things  that  don't  matter  a  hang  beside  what  she 
is,  and  what  every  one  can  see  she  is  who  knows  her, 
would  be  brought  up,  and  he'd  put  himself  into  a  fran- 
tic state  about  it.  He  wouldn't  let  me  brine:  her  to 
Kencote;  he'd  fight  blindly  with  every  weapon  he  could 
use.  I'm  heir  to  a  fine  property,  and  I'm  as  well  off  as 
I  need  be,  even  while  my  father  is  alive,  as  long  as  I 


60  THE   ELDEST   SON 

don't  set  myself  against  all  his  dislikes  and  prejudices. 
If  I  do,  he  can  make  me  a  poor  man,  and  he'd  do  it. 
He'd  do  anything  by  which  he  thought  he  could  get 
his  way.  I  shouldn't  even  be  able  to  marry,  unless  I 
lived  on  my  wife's  money,  which  I  won't  do." 

*'  No,  you're  too  proud  for  that,"  said  Miss  Dexter. 

"  Put  it  how  you  like.  I  won't  do  it.  I'll  take  all 
a  wife  can  give  me  except  money.  That  I'll  give.  If 
there  were  no  other  way,  I'd  break  down  his  opposi- 
tion. I  know  how  to  treat  him,  and  I  could  do  it ;  but 
it  would  take  time;  I  should  cut  myself  off  from  Ken- 
cote  until  I  had  brought  him  under,  and  Virginia's 
name  would  be  bandied  about  here,  in  the  place  where 
we  are  going  to  live  all  our  lives,  in  a  way  that  would 
affect  us  always,  and  in  a  way  I  won't  subject  her  to. 
He'd  do  that,  although  he  might  be  sorry  for  having 
done  it  afterwards,  and  I  don't  think  I  should  be  able 
to  put  up  with  it.  We  might  quarrel  in  such  a  way 
that  we  shouldn't  be  able  to  come  together  again,  and 
the  harm  would  be  done.  As  I  say,  if  there  were  no 
other  way  I  would  run  the  risk.  But  there  is  another 
way,  and  I'm  taking  it.  You  asked  me  a  foolish  ques- 
tion just  now — if  I  was  ashamed  of  Virginia.  It  is 
because  I  am  so  far  from  being  ashamed  of  her — because 
I'm  so  proud  of  her — that  I  asked  her  to  come  down 
here,  where  he  can  get  to  know  her  before  he  has  any 
idea  that  I'm  going  to  marry  her.  She  can  make  her 
way,  and  make  him  forget  all  the  rest.  Now,  what  have 
you  got  against  that?     Let's  have  it  plainly." 

"  Dear  Dick !  "  said  Virginia  softly.  "  I  have  had 
many  compliments  paid  me,  but  that  is  the  best  of  all. 
Answer  him,  Toby,  and  don't  keep  up  this  tiresome 
irritation  any  longer.      It  spoils  everything." 

"  Well,  I'll  give  in,"  said  Miss  Dexter.  "  But  in 
my  inmost  soul  I'm  against  all  this  policy,  and  if  your 
father  isn't  quite  blind.  Captain  Dick,  he  will  see 
through  it,  and  you  will  be  worse  off  than  before," 


BLAYTHORX    RECTORY  61 

"  My  father  can't  see  through  anything,"  said  Dick. 
"  Besides,  there's  nothing  to  see  through.  I  shouldn't 
mind  telling  him — in  fact,  I  shall  tell  him — that  it  was 
I  who  advised  Virginia  to  come  down  here.  He  knows 
I  have  heaps  of  friends  all  over  the  place  that  he  doesn't 
know  of.     Virginia  is  one  of  them,  for  the  present." 

"  I  hope  everything  will  turn  out  well,"  said  ]\Iiss 
Dexter  after  a  slight  pause.  "  I  won't  say  I  think 
you're  right,  but  I'll  say  you  may  be,  and  I  hope  you 
are.     And  I  won't  worry  you  with  any  more  doubts." 

Virginia  Dubec  rose  from  her  chair  impulsively  and 
kissed  her.  "  My  darling  old  Toby  !  "  she  said.  "  You 
are  very  annoying  at  times,  but  I  couldn't  do  without 
you." 

After  tea  Miss  Dexter  went  out  of  the  room,  and 
they  did  not  try  to  stop  her.  When  they  were  left 
alone  Dick  held  Virginia  in  his  arms  and  looked  into 
her  eyes.  "  What  have  you  done  to  me,"  he  asked  her, 
with  a  smile,  "after  all  these  years .'^" 

"  Am  I  really  the  first,  Dick.^  "  she  asked  him. 

"  You  are  the  first,  Virginia — and  the  only  one.  You 
have  changed  everything.  I  have  always  thought  I 
had  everything  I  wanted.  Now  I  know  I've  had 
nothing." 

"  And  I  have  had  nothing,  either,"  she  said.  "  Every 
moniing  I  wake  up  wondering  what  has  happened  to 
me.  And  when  I  remember  I  begin  to  sing.  To  think 
that  at  my  age,  and  after  my  bitter  experience,  this 
should  come  to  me  !  Oh,  Dick,  you  don't  know  how  much 
I  love  you." 

"  I  know  how  much  I  love  ?/om,"  he  said.  "  If  there 
were  no  other  way  I  would  give  up  Kencote  and  every- 
thing else  for  you.  I  love  you  enough  for  that,  Vir- 
ginia, and  the  things  I  would  give  up  for  you  are  the 
only  things  I  have  valued  so  far.  But  we  won't  give 
up  anything,  my  girl.  My  good  old  obstinate  old 
father  will  fall  at  your  feet  when  he  knows  you." 


ea  THE   ELDEST   SON 

"Will  he,  Dick?" 

"  /  have  fallen  at  your  feet,  Virginia,  and  I'm  rather 
like  my  father,  although  I  think  I  can  see  a  bit  further 
into  things,  and  I  have  a  little  more  control  over  my 
feelings — and  my  speech." 

.      They  had  sat  down  side  by  side  on  a  sofa,  and  Dick 
was  holding  her  slender  hand  in  his  brown  one. 

"  I  used  to  think  you  had  so  much  control  over 
yourself  that  it  would  be  impossible  ever  to  get  any- 
thing out  of  you,"  she  said.  "  You  are  so  frightfully 
and  terrifyingly  English." 

He  laughed.  "  That  gnat-like  friend  of  yours  has 
the  power  to  make  me  explain  myself,"  he  said.  ""  I've 
never  tried  to  talk  over  any  one  to  my  side  as  I  do  her. 
I  have  always  taken  my  own  way  and  let  people  think 
what  they  like." 

"  I  think  it  is  sweet  of  you  to  put  yourself — and 
me — right  with  her,  Dick.  She  has  been  the  best  friend 
that  I  ever  had,  except  you,  dear  Dick.  She  stood  by 
me  in  the  worst  days,  and  put  up  with  untold  insults 
without  flinching,  so  that  she  could  stay  with  me.  Of 
course,  at  first,  she  was  terrified  lest  I  should  make  an- 
other mistake.  She  is  like  a  grim  watch-dog  over  me. 
But  she  likes  you,  and  trusts  you.  You  must  put  up 
with  her  Httle  ways." 

"  Oh,  I  do,  my  dear,  and  I  will.     She's  a  good  sort." 

"Dick,  will  your  mother  like  me?  You  have  never 
told  me  very  much  about  her.  I  think  I  feel  more  nerv- 
ous about  her  than  about  your  father." 

"  You  needn't,  Virginia.  She  is  one  of  the  best  of 
women.  I  think  she  is  perhaps  a  little  difficult  to  know. 
She  is  rather  silent  and  keeps  her  thoughts  to  herself; 
but  I  know  we  shall  have  her  on  our  side.  She  has  only 
to  know  you.  But  in  any  case  she  wouldn't  give  us  any 
trouble." 

"  That  sounds  rather  hard,  Dick.  Don't  you  love 
your  mother.?    I  loved  mine." 


BLAYTHORN    RECTORY  63 

"  Of  course  I  do.  But  she  doesn't  interfere  with  us. 
She  never  did.  It  was  my  father  we  had  to  consider, 
even  when  we  were  boys." 

"  Interfere  with  you  !  I  don't  Hke  the  sound  of  it. 
Dick,  I  don't  think  I  will  talk  to  you  about  your  mother. 
I  will  wait  until  I  have  seen  her.  You  don't  help  me 
to  know  what  she  is  like.  I  hope  I  shall  get  on  with 
her.  I  shall  know  soon.  Will  she  be  at  the  meet  on 
Monday,  if  there  is  one?  " 

"  No.  But  my  father  will.  I  shall  introduce  him 
to  you  then.  I  told  you  he  had  a  foolish  prejudice 
against  women  hunting,  didn't  I.^  It  won't  be  quite  the 
most  propitious  of  times.     But  we  can't  help  that." 

"  Well,  I  won't  hunt  on  Monday,  then.  I  will  drive 
Toby  to  the  meet  instead,  and  follow  on  wheels." 

"  H'm.  Perhaps  it  would  be  better — just  at  the 
first  go  off.  And  I  don't  believe  you  really  care  as 
much  about  hunting  as  you  think  you  do,  Virginia." 

She  looked  into  his  face  with  her  dark,  sweet  eyes. 
"  I  don't  care  about  anything,  except  to  please  you, 
Dick,"  she  said.  "  x\s  for  hunting — it  was  the  excite- 
ment— to  keep  my  mind  off.  It  was  the  only  thing  he 
let  me  do,  over  here.  I  believe  he  would  have  liked  me 
to  kill  myself,  and  sometimes  I  used  to  try  to." 

He  put  his  hand  before  her  mouth.  "  You  are  not 
to  talk  about  those  bad  times,"  he  said. 

She  kissed  his  hand,  and  removed  it.  "  I  like  to, 
sometimes,"  she  said.  "  It  is  such  a  blessed  relief  to 
think  of  them  as  quite  gone — it  is  like  the  cessation  of 
bad  neuralgia — just  a  sense  of  peace  and  bliss.  Per- 
haps I  didn't  really  try  to  kill  myself,  but  certainly  I 
shouldn't  have  cared  if  I  had.  It  was  not  caring  that 
gave  me  my  reputation,  I  suppose,  for  I  didn't  mind 
where  I  went  or  what  I  did.  I  do  care  now.  I  don't 
think  I  should  very  much  mind  giving  it  up  al- 
together." 

"  Well,  you  mustn't  do  that  for  this  winter,  at  any 


64  THE    ELDEST    SON 

rate.  You  shall  do  what  you  like  afterwards.  And  as 
for  your  reputation,  ray  dear,  I'm  afraid  we  are  so  out 
of  the  smart  hunting  world  in  South  Meadshire  that 
you  will  find  very  few  of  us  aware  of  it.  So  you  needn't 
run  any  risks  in  trying  to  keep  it  up." 

"  Very  well,  Dick.  But  I  expect  when  the  hounds 
begin  to  run  I  shall  forget  that  I  have  to  be  cautious. 
Yes,  I  do  love  it.  I  don't  want  to  give  up  hunting. 
And  there  won't  be  much  for  me  to  do  here  outside  that, 
will  there?" 

"  I'm  afraid  I  am  condemning  you  to  a  dull  three 
months,  my  poor  Virginia.  But  I  want  you  to  get  to 
know  the  country,  and  love  it,  as  I  do.  Kencote  means 
a  lot  to  me.     I  want  it  to  mean  a  lot  to  you  too." 

"  So  it  shall.  I  love  it  already,  for  your  sake,  and 
it  seems  a  wonderful  thing  to  me  that  you  and  all  the 
people  you  have  sprung  from  should  have  been  settled 
down  just  in  this  little  spot  in  the  world  for  all  those 
centuries.  Dick  dear,  I  know  you  are  giving  up  a  lot 
for  me.  I  know,  although  I  wasn't  brought  up  in  all 
these  traditions,  th£^t  your  father  is  right,  really,  and 
that  it  is  not  a  woman  like  me  you  ought  to  choose  for 
your  wife." 

Dick  raised  her  hand  and  let  it  fall  with  his  own. 
"  I  have  chosen  you  for  my  wife,  Virginia,  out  of  all 
the  women  I  have  known.  I  love  and  honour  you,  and 
I  wouldn't  have  you  different — not  in  the  smallest  par- 
ticular. No  Clinton  of  Kencote  has  ever  chosen  a  wife 
more  worthy  to  bear  his  name.  Let  that  be  enough 
for  you,  and  don't  worry  your  pretty  head  about  any- 
thing, except  to  make  love  to  my  old  father  when  you 
meet  him." 

When  Dick  had  ridden  away,  in  the  gloaming,  and 
the  two  women  were  left  to  themselves  for  the  long 
evening,  Virginia  Dubec  said  to  Miss  Dexter,  "  Toby, 
tell  me  the  truth ;  don't  you  think  I  am  the  most  fortu- 
nate woman  in  the  world  ?  " 


BLAYTHORN    RECTORY  65 

"  If  all  goes  well,"  said  the  other  soberly  and  deci- 
sively, "  I  think  you  will  be  happy.  But  your  Dick, 
Virginia,  is  the  sort  of  man  who  will  want  to  rule,  and 
to  rule  without  question.  He  is  very  much  in  love  with 
you  now — that  is  quite  plain,  although  he  is  one  of 
those  men  who  hold  themselves  in.  But  you  won't  get 
your  way,  my  dear,  when  you  are  married,  unless  it 
is  his  way  too — any  more  than  you  did  before." 

"  Oh,  my  own  way !  What  do  I  care  about  that  ? 
My  way  shall  be  his  way.  I  love  him  and  I  can  trust 
him.  He  is  a  strong  man,  and  tender  too.  Toby,  I 
adore  him.  I  will  do  everything  in  the  world  that  I 
can  to  make  him  happy.  He  has  raised  me  out  of  the 
dust,  and  given  me  to  myself  again.  When  I  am  mar- 
ried to  him  I  shall  forget  all  the  pain  and  misery. 
It's  a  new  life  he  is  giving  me,  Toby,  and  the  old  un- 
happy life  will  fall  from  me  and  be  as  if  it  had  never 
been." 

"  You  are  expecting  a  great  deal,  Virginia,"  said 
Miss  Dexter ;  "  I  hope  some  part  of  it  will  be  realised." 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    SaUIRE    PUTS    HIS    FOOT    DOWN 

Kencote  was  three  hours'  journey  from  London  by 
a  fast  train,  and  it  had  always  been  the  custom  of  the 
sons  of  the  family — those  of  them  whose  avocations 
made  it  necessary  for  them  at  any  time  to  live  in  town 
— to  come  down  whenever  they  pleased,  to  spend  a  night 
or  a  few  nights,  without  announcing  their  arrival. 
Their  rooms  were  there  ready  for  them.  Kencote  was 
their  home.  Dick  or  Humphrey,  and,  in  the  days  be- 
fore he  was  married,  Walter,  would  often  walk  into 
the  house  unexpectedly  and  go  upstairs  and  dress  with- 
out any  one  but  the  servants  knowing  they  were  there 
until  dinner-time.  The  Squire  liked  them  to  come  and 
go  in  that  way.  It  seemed  to  give  him,  in  his  retired, 
bucolic  life,  a  tie  with  the  world.  He  would  always 
give  them  a  hearty  welcome,  even  if  he  had  to  object 
to  something  they  had  done,  or  had  left  undone,  before 
they  left  again. 

It  was  Humphrey  who  arrived  on  this  Saturday 
afternoon,  reaching  Kencote  by  the  half-past  four 
train,  and  walking  up  from  the  station  and  into  the 
morning-room,  for  his  cup  of  tea.  The  Squire's  greet- 
ing was  a  shade  less  hearty  than  it  would  have  been 
in  the  case  of  his  other  sons.  Humphrey  had  given  him 
a  good  deal  of  trouble  in  the  way  of  money.  It  is  true 
that  there  had  never  been  any  big  catastrophe,  no 
sudden  demand  for  a  large  sum  to  meet  a  debt  of  hon- 
our, from  racing  or  cards,  as  fathers  were  sometimes 
confronted  with  by  extravagant  sons.  Humphrey  was 
too  cautious  to  run  that  sort  of  risk.  The  Squire, 
perhaps,  would  have  preferred  that  the  demands  upon 

m 


SQUIRE    PUTS    HIS   FOOT    DOWN       67 

him  should  have  come  in  that  way  rather  than  from 
the  constant,  rather  cold-blooded  exceeding  of  an 
allowance  which  he  told  himself,  and  Humphrey,  was 
as  large  as  any  younger  son  had  a  right  to  expect,  and 
a  good  deal  larger  than  most  of  them  got.  Humphrey 
did  not  deny  this.  He  simplj^  said,  whenever  he  did 
ask  his  father  for  more  money,  that  he  had  not  been 
able  to  do  on  it,  but  if  his  father  would  clear  off  his 
debts  for  him  and  give  him  a  fresh  start,  he  would  try 
to  do  on  it  for  the  future.  He  had  made  the  endeavour 
three  times,  and  each  time  with  less  success  than  before, 
for  the  debts  had  been  bigger.  And  now  the  Squire 
was  getting  angr^-  about  it.  It  had  always  been  the 
same.  Humphrey's  debts  after  he  had  left  Cambridge 
had  been  about  twice  as  large  as  Dick's,  although  Dick 
had  been  Master  of  the  Drag  and  had  had  expenses  that 
Humphrey  had  not.  Walter  had  left  Oxford  with 
no  debts  at  all.  And  since  their  University  days, 
Humphrey  had  actually  had  more  money  than  either 
of  the  others,  although  Dick  was  the  eldest  son  and 
a  considerable  sum  had  been  paid  to  buy  Walter  his 
practice. 

Now  it  was  not  the  Squire's  way  to  bear  malice  or 
to  let  any  annoyance  rankle  when  once  it  had  been  met 
and  dealt  with.  In  the  ordinary  course  he  would  have 
expressed  himself  very  strongly  and  felt  very  strongly 
on  the  subject  when  one  of  Humphrey's  periodical 
crises  of  debt  was  disclosed  to  him,  but  when  he  had  so 
relieved  his  mind  he  would  have  paid  up  and  forgotten 
all  about  it.  He  had  done  so  the  first  time,  and  even 
the  second,  after  a  rather  stronger  explosion.  It  was 
the  third,  now  nearly  two  years  ago,  which  had  rankled ; 
and  the  reason  was  not  only  that  Humphre}^  as  seemed 
quite  obvious,  was  living  in  just  such  a  way  as  had 
brought  him  to  exceed  his  income  and  get  into  trouble 
before,  with  the  consequence  that  a  new  crisis  and  a 
new  demand  would  probably  arise  before  long.     It  was 


68  THE   ELDEST   SON 

so  much  in  the  air  that  the  Squire  was  continually  call- 
ing the  gods  to  witness  that  he  was  not  going  to  pay 
any  more  of  Humphrey's  debts.  But  he  would  not  have 
felt  so  sore,  when  he  did  think  about  it,  if  it  had  not 
been  for  Humphrey's  attitude  towards  him  in  particu- 
lar, and  towards  Kencote  and  all  that  it  represented  in 
general. 

The  fact  was  that  Humphrey,  from  the  serene 
heights  of  his  career  as  a  very  smart  young  man  about 
town,  patronised  them.  It  is  to  be  supposed  that  he 
could  not  help  it,  that  it  w^as  an  attitude  which  he 
would  have  corrected  if  he  had  been  aware  of  it,  for  it 
was  quite  certain  that,  when  once  his  father  became 
aware  of  it,  it  would  not  help  him  in  any  plan  he  might 
have  to  make  for  further  pecuniary  assistance.  The 
Squire  merely  had  a  feeling  of  irritation  against 
Humphrey,  which  slumbered  while  he  was  away  and 
always  became  sharper  during  his  somewhat  rare  visits 
to  Kencote.  It  was  not  yet  formulated,  but  was  nearer 
to  getting  to  a  head  every  time  they  came  together. 
The  young  man,  if  he  had  had  an  adviser,  might  have 
been  told  that  if  he  acted  in  such  a  way  as  to  bring  it 
•to  a  head,  it  would  be  time  for  him  to  look  out. 

Humphrey  walked  into  the  morning-room  with  a  cool 
air,  as  if  he  had  come  from  another  room  in  the  house 
instead  of  from  London.  He  was  the  only  one  of  all 
the  Clintons  who  was  dark.  He  was  not  so  good- 
looking  as  Dick,  but  he  was  well  set  up,  and  his  clothes 
were  always  the  perfect  expression  of  the  requirements 
of  the  moment.  So  were  Dick's,  but  Dick  wore  old 
clothes  eometimes,  Humphrey  never.  He  was  a  young 
man  of  the  highest  fashion,  whenever  and  wherever  he 
appeared. 

The  Squire  was  standing  in  front  of  the  fire,  as  his 
habit  was,  Mrs.  Clinton  sitting  behind  her  tea-table 
and  Mrs.  Graham  near  her.  The  twins  were  on  the  sofa 
on  either  side  of  Cicely.     Humphrey  kissed  his  mother, 


SQUIRE    PUTS   HIS   FOOT    DOWN       69 

shook  hands  with  his  father  and  Mrs.  Graham,  and  sat 
down  by  his  sisters.  "  The  frost  is  going  to  break," 
he  said. 

"Is  it.?"  said  the  Squire.  "Well,  that's  the  best 
news  you  could  have  brought.  Look  here,  we  were  talk- 
ing of  Lady  George  Dubec.  Do  you  know  anything 
about  her  ?  " 

"  Virginia  Dubec .?  "  said  Humphrey.  "  She  is  a 
very  beautiful  lady." 

"  Well,  but  who  is  she  ^  Who  was  she  ?  An  Ameri- 
can they  say.     Is  she  all  right  ?  " 

"  She  was  an  actress.  Musical  comedy,  or  something 
of  the  sort.  But  that  was  some  years  ago.  Old  George 
Dubec  married  her  in  New  York,  and  led  her  an  awful 
life.  She  used  to  hunt  with  the  Quorn.  Went  like  a 
bird,  and  didn't  care  how  she  went  or  where  she  went. 
People  used  to  say  she  wanted  to  break  her  neck  and 
get  away  from  George  Dubec.  But  Dick  knows  her 
better  than  I  do.     He'll  tell  you  all  about  her." 

Mrs.  Chnton  looked  up  from  the  teacups,  Mrs. 
Graham  arched  her  brows  and  her  mouth  twitched,  the 
twins  caught  the  sense  of  surprise  and  gazed  open-eyed 
at  their  father. 

"  Dick  knows  her !  "  exclaimed  the  Squire.     "  Then 

why  on  earth !    Does  he  know  she  has  settled  down 

here.?" 

*'  Has  she  settled  down  here.? "  asked  Humphrey. 
"  Where  has  she  settled,  and  what  for?  " 

"  Taken  old  Marsh's  rectory  at  Blaythorn,"  said 
Mrs.  Graham.  "  Going  to  hunt  with  the  South  Mead- 
shire." 

*"'  That  seems  an  odd  proceeding  for  one  of  the 
brightest  ornaments  of  the  Shires,"  said  Humphrey. 

The  Squire  knit  his  heavy  brows.  "  We  can  show 
her  very  good  sport,"  he  said,  "  if  that's  what  she 
wants.  But  I  should  like  to  know  why  she  came  here, 
all  the  same." 


70  THE    ELDEST   SON 

"  There's  more  in  this  than  meets  the  eye,"  said 
Nancy,  very  unwisely,  for  she  and  Joan  were  instantly 
sent  out  of  the  room. 

"  What  are  you  children  doing  here  ?  "  asked  the 
Squire  sharply.  "Why  aren't  you  with  Miss  Bird? 
Run  along  now ;  you've  got  lessons  to  do,  or  some- 
thing." 

"  We  don't  have  lessons  on  Saturday.  Can't  we  stay 
with  Cicely,  father.^  "  asked  Joan. 

"  I  must  be  going  directly,"  said  Cicely,  rising. 
"  But  I'll  come  with  you  and  pay  a  last  farewell  to  the 
dear  old  Starling." 

So  the  three  of  them  retired,  and  directly  they  got 
out  of  the  room  Joan  fell  upon  Nancy.  "  What  an 
idiot  you  are !  "  she  said.  "  If  you  had  kept  quiet  we 
should  have  heard  everything.  When  you  get  hold  of 
a  new  speech  you  must  always  be  poking  it  in.  We've 
had  enough  of  '  There's  more  in  this  than  meets  the 
eye.'     I  wish  you'd  get  hold  of  a  new  one." 

"  I  own  it  was  foolish  of  me,"  said  Nancy.  "  I'm  at 
the  mercy  of  a  phrase.  Still,  it  was  quite  true.  We 
know  who  Dick  is  in  love  with  now.  Of  course  he 
got  her  down  here.  Humphrey  said  she  was  very 
beautiful." 

"  You  are  not  to  talk  like  that,  children,"  said  Cicely. 
"  You  know  nothing  about  these  things." 

"  Darling !  "  said  Joan,  squeezing  her  arm.  "  Don't 
be  so  frightfully  grown-up.  We  are  not  children  any 
longer,  and  we  know  a  good  deal  more  than  you 
think." 

"  We  are  a  force  to  be  reckoned  with  now,"  said 
Nancy,  "  and  it's  no  use  trying  to  keep  family  secrets 
from  us,  sending  us  out  of  the  room,  and  all  that.  It's 
too  transparent,  and  makes  us  talk  all  the  more." 

There  was  a  pause  in  the  morning-room  when  the 
three  sisters  had  left.  Humphrey's  quick  brain  was 
adjusting  many  things.     He  knew  Dick  admired  Vir- 


SQUIRE    PUTS    HIS    FOOT    DOWN       71 

ginia  Dubec,  although  it  had  not  hitherto  occurred  to 
him  that  that  admiration  betokened  anything  serious. 
He  suspected  also,  that  since  somebody  must  have  sug- 
gested to  the  lady  that  she  should  spend  a  season  hunt- 
ing in  Meadshire  instead  of  in  Leicestershire,  that  some- 
body was  probably  Dick.  But  if  his  brother  had  not 
seen  fit  to  disclose  that  fact  at  Kencote,  not  even  the 
fact  of  his  acquaintanceship  with  Lady  George  Dubec, 
it  was  not  for  him  to  do  so.  Therefore,  when  his  fa- 
ther asked  him  whether  Dick  knew  that  she  had  come 
to  Blaythorn,  and  why  she  had  come,  he  said,  "  I 
don't  know  in  the  least.     He'll  tell  you  if  you  ask  him." 

The  Squire  bent  his  brows  on  him.  "  You  said  he 
knew  her  very  well." 

"  I  didn't  say  he  knew  her  very  well.  I  said  he  knew 
her  better  than  I  did.  Lots  of  people  know  her.  She 
goes  about  everywhere  in  London." 

"  She  was  an  actress,  you  say.'^  " 

"  Well,  that's  what  I've  heard.     It  may  not  be  true." 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Mrs.  Graham.  "  Virginia  Van- 
reden.  I  remember  quite  well  now.  I  saw  her  when  I 
was  in  New  York  with  my  husband  ten  years  ago.  And 
a  lovely  creature  she  was.  I  shall  go  and  call  on  her 
at  once  " 

The  Squire  frowned  again.  "  What  sort  of  an 
actress  was  she  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Was  she  a  chorus 
girl?" 

"  It  was  a  play  called  The  Flower  of  Florida,*'  re- 
plied Mrs.  Graham,  "  a  very  silly  play  with  catchy 
music,  only  it  didn't  catch  me,  because  I  hate  music, 
and  I  was  bored  to  tears.  No,  she  wasn't  a  chorus  girl, 
and  she  wasn't  the  Flower  of  Florida  either — I  re- 
member the  Flower,  an  exuberant  lady  with  gold  teeth, 
who  seemed  to  be  very  popular,  but  I  should  have  said 
she  was  past  her  job.  This  girl  danced — oh,  I  remem- 
ber her  ver3^  well ;  she  was  the  best  of  the  bunch,  and 
the  Flower  grinned  at  her  with  her  teeth  and  scowled 


72  THE   ELDEST   SON 

at  her  with  her  eyes  while  she  was  performing.  When 
we  got  back  to  New  York  on  our  way  home  she  had 
caught  on,  and  all  the  richly  gilded  youth  was  crowd- 
ing to  see  her.  The  Flower  had  departed,  mad  with 
jealousy." 

"  A  dancing  girl !  "  said  the  Squire.  "  Of  course  1 
Just  the  sort  that  George  Dubec  would  have  married. 
Well,  you  may  call  on  her  if  you  like,  Mrs.  Graham, 
but " 

"  Oh,  I  shall,"  said  Mrs.  Graham.  "  Perhaps  she 
will  dance  for  me.  I  liked  her  immensely.  She  was 
certainly  beautiful,  and  I  like  beauty.  She  was  quite 
young  too.     She  can't  be  very  old  now." 

"  What  I  want  to  know  is  what  brings  her  to  Blay- 
thorn,"  said  the  Squire,  which  closed  the  discussion, 
for  Cicely's  carriage  was  announced  at  that  moment, 
and  the  welfare  of  the  Mountfield  horses  being  of  para- 
mount importance  it  was  not  many  minutes  before  she 
and  Mrs.  Graham  had  driven  away. 

Dick  returned  shortly  after  six  o'clock,  and  when  he 
had  changed  his  clothes,  came  into  the  library  where  his 
father  was  sitting  at  his  big  writing-table  looking  over 
papers,  his  gold-rimmed  glasses  perched  on  his  straight 
nose. 

"  Oh,  here  you  are,"  he  said,  looking  over  them  at  his 
son.  "  I  say,  what's  this  about  Lady  George  Dubec 
taking  the  rectory  at  Blaythorn?  " 

Dick  took  a  cigarette  out  of  his  case  and  went  over 
to  the  smoking-table  by  the  fire  to  get  a  match.  ^'  I've 
just  been  to  see  her,"  he  said;  "  she's  a  friend  of  mine." 

"  Well,  but "     The  Squire  was  puzzled,  vaguely 

uneasy,  though  he  could  not  have  told  why.  "  What  on 
earth  has  she  come  here  for.?  Who  brought  her.?  You 
didn't,  I  suppose?  " 

Dick  sat  down  with  rather  elaborate  unconcern  in 
one  of  the  big  easy-chairs  facing  hi^  father,  who  had 
turned  round  sideways  in  his  seat.    "  I  suppose  you  may 


SQUIRE    PUTS    HIS   FOOT    DOWN       73 

say  I  did  bring  her,  in  a  way,"  he  said.  "  She  wanted 
to  do  a  bit  of  mild  hunting  somewhere,  and  I  told  her 
she'd  better  try  the  South  Alcadshirc." 

"  But  they  tell  me  she's  well  known  with  the  Quorn 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  Now  I  should  like  to  know  who  told  you  that," 
said  Dick  to  himself,  but  he  did  not  ask.  "  She  hasn't 
hunted  there  for  two  seasons,"  he  said.  "  She  wanted 
something  a  bit  quieter.  I  said  I'd  see  if  I  could  find 
her  a  smallish  house,  and  I  wrote  to  Wylie,  the  agent 
at  Bathgate.  Blaythorn  Rectory  was  the  only  place 
he  could  get  hold  of,  and  the  stables  there  aren't  much." 

"  I  should  think  not." 

"  They  are  better  than  you'd  think,  though,  and  she 
has  only  brought   three  horses." 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  us  you  were  springing  this 
strange  lady  upon  us  ?  "  asked  the  Squire,  as  a  begin- 
ning out  of  all  the  questions  he  wanted  to  ask. 

"  I  haven't  been  home  for  a  month,"  said  Dick,  "  and 
I'm  not  much  of  a  correspondent." 

"  You  didn't  say  anything  about  it  last  night,  and 
you  didn't  say  you  were  going  over  to  see  her  this 
afternoon."  The  Squire's  uneasiness  was  beginning  to 
take  shape,  and  Dick  realised  with  annoyance  that  he 
had  given  it  something  to  feed  on. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  he  said.  "  But  we  were  talking  about 
other  things.  The  poor  lady  had  a  brute  of  a  husband 
— I  expect  you  knew  him,  didn't  you.''  " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  knew  him.  A  pretty  sort  of  rascal  he 
was  too." 

"  I've  always  heard  so,  though  I  never  met  him.  He 
behaved  like  a  swine  to  her,  at  any  rate,  and  she's  a 
very  charming  woman.  I  think  you'll  like  her,  father. 
I  want  to  ask  the  mater  to  go  over  and  see  her  as  soon 
as  she  can.  She  doesn't  know  any  one  hereabouts,  and 
it's  a  hit  lonely  for  her." 

He  could  not  keep  the  note  of  appeal,  rarely  heard 


74  THE    ELDEST    SON 

from  him,  out  of  his  voice,  but  it  escaped  the  Squire, 
who  only  saw  himself  at  issue  with  his  eldest  son — a 
position  he  exceedingly   disliked. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  boy  !  "  he  said.  "  A  woman  that  black- 
guard George  Dubec  picked  up  off  the  music-hall 
stage!     You  can't  be  serious." 

"  That's  not  true,"  said  Dick  sharply.  "  Who  said 
she  was  on  the  music-hall  stage  ?  " 

"  Well,  on  the  stage,  anyhow — dancing  on  the  stage 
— it's  the  same  thing." 

"Who  told  you  that.?" 

"  Humphrey  said  she  had  been  on  the  stage,  and  Mrs. 
Graham  remembered  seeing  her  when  she  was  in 
America." 

"  Is  Humphrey  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  came  this  afternoon.  An  American  dancer, 
you  know,  Dick,  and  a  woman  who  would  marry  George 
Dubec — really,  you  might  have  thought  twice  before 
you  brought  a  person  of  that  sort  here;  and  as  for 
your  mother  calling  on  her — that's  out  of  the  question. 
Surely  you  can  see  that." 

The  Squire's  tone  was  conciliatory.  He  would  not 
have  spoken  in  that  way,  upon  a  subject  on  which  he 
felt  strongly,  to  any  one  else  in  the  world,  and  when 
he  had  spoken  he  threw  a  glance  at  his  son,  whose  face 
betokened  nothing  of  all  he  was  thinking  at  that 
moment. 

Dick  did  not  speak  at  once.  When  he  did  he  said 
quietly,  "  When  I  suggested  to  Lady  George,  who  has 
been  a  friend  of  mine  for  some  time,  that  she  should 
spend  a  month  or  two  in  this  part  of  the  country,  I 
told  her  that  my  people  would  be  glad  to  see  her  and 
do  what  they  could  for  her.  It  never  crossed  my  mind 
that  you  would  refuse  to  acknowledge  a  friend  of  mine. 
It  is  not  my  habit  to  make  friends  of  women  I  couldn't 
introduce  you  or  my  mother  to."  , 

"  But,  my  dear  boy !  "  expostulated  the  Squire.     "  A 


SQUIRE    PUTS    HIS    FOOT    DOWN       75 

woman  who  has  danced  on  the  stage,  the  widow  of  a 
notorious  profligate  and  swindler — George  Dubec  was 
a  swindler,  and  he  wasn't  received  latterly  even  in  men's 
society — decent  men.  /  wouldn't  have  received  him,  for 
one." 

"  You  can  say  what  you  like  about  George  Dubec," 
replied  Dick.  "  It  was  the  way  he  had  treated  her 
that  made  me  sorry  for  her,  first  of  all.  Then  I  found 
she  was  a  good  woman,  as  well  as  a  very  charming  one. 
There  isn't  a  soul  who  knows  her — and  lots  of  people 
know  her — who  could  have  a  word  to  say  against  her. 
It  isn't  generally  known  that  she  was  on  the  stage — it 
was  for  a  very  short  time — and  I  wish  to  goodness 
Humphrey  had  minded  his  own  business  and  kept  that 
to  himself.  Her  father  was  a  planter  in  the  South,  and 
lost  everything  he  had  in  the  war.  She  had  to  support 
her  mother,  and  that  was  the  only  way.  She  was  very 
young.     I  honour  her  for  what  she  did." 

"  Yes,  oh  yes,  that's  all  right,"  said  the  Squire,  who 
was  coming  more  and  more  to  feel  that  it  was  all  wrong. 
"  But  it's  no  good,  Dick.  Plenty  of  people  in  their 
different  lines  of  life  do  things  that  you  can  honour 
them  for,  as  you  say,  but  you  don't  welcome  them  to 
houses  like  Kencote.  We  live  a  quiet  enough  life  here, 
I  know  that.  We're  not  one  of  the  modern  smart 
country  houses,  thank  God,  and  never  will  be  as  long 
as  I'm  alive.  But  we're  of  some  account  in  this  part 
of  the  world,  and  have  been  for  generations.  And  the 
long  and  the  short  of  it  is,  Dick,  that  if  you  want  to 
make  friends  with  ladies  of  that  sort,  I  can't  stop  you — 
I  don't  want  to — it's  your  affair  and  you're  old  enough 
to  look  after  yourself — but  I  won't  have  them  at 
Kencote." 

Inwardly,  Dick  was  raging,  and  it  needed  all  his 
self-control  to  keep  his  feelings  from  showing  them- 
selves in  his  face  or  in  his  speech.  But  he  knew  that 
if  he  did  so  everything  was  lost.     It  had  b«en  no  vaiix 


76  THE   ELDEST   SON 

boast  that  he  had  made   to  Virginia  Dubec,   that  he 
could  manage  his  father.     He  had  the  advantage  over 
him  that  a  man  who  controls  his  speech  and  his  tem- 
per always   has   over   a   man    who   habitually   controls 
neither.     For  many  years  past  the  Squire,  who  pictured 
himself    as    the   wise   but   undisputed   autocrat   of    his 
household,  had  gone  to  his  eldest  son  for  advice  upon 
any  matter  that  bothered  him,  and  had  always  taken 
his  advice.     In  questions  of  estate  management  he  had 
never  taken  a  step  of  any  importance  without  consulting 
Dick,  and  Dick  had  been  the  virtual  ruler  of  the  estate, 
although  the  Squire  did  not  know  it.     In  his  father's 
eyes  Dick  was  a  model  son.     He  had  never  once  had  to 
exercise  his  paternal  authority  over  him  since  his  school- 
days.    He  knew  that  Kencote,  which  was  the  apple  of 
his  own  eye,  was  also  the  apple  of  Dick's,  and  that  he 
would  have  as  worthy  a  successor  as  any  head  of  an 
old-rooted  family  ever  had.     In  course  of  years  he  had 
come  to  treat  his  eldest  son  with  a  respect  and  con- 
sideration which  he  gave  to  no  other  being  alive.     Ex- 
cept that  none  but  an  eldest  son  who  was  some  day  to 
step  into  his  place  could  have  aroused  the  feelings  he 
had  towards  him,  his  attitude  towards  Dick  was  what 
he  might  have  felt  towards  a  brother,  almost,  it  might 
be  said,  towards  an  elder  brother. 

Now  Dick  was  quite  aware  of  all  this,  and  he  knew 
also  that  in  his  last  speech  his  father  had  crossed  a 
line  that  had  never  yet  been  crossed  between  them.  He 
had  done  what  he  did  almost  every  day  of  his  life  with 
some  member  or  other  of  his  family  or  household,  but 
had  never  done  with  him  since  he  was  a  child,  because 
he  had  never  given  him  the  opportunity.  He  called  it 
putting  his  foot  down,  and  although  in  reference  to 
other  matters  Dick  had  frequently,  by  the  exercise  of 
his  peculiar  gift  of  cool  tact,  caused  the  taking  up 
again  of  a  foot  that  was  announced  to  have  been  put 
down,  and  by  no  means  despaired  of  being  able  to  do 


SQUIRE    PUTS    HIS   FOOT    DOWN       77 

so  in  this  instance,  lie  knew  that  this  was  not  the  time 
to  undertake  the  removal.  Something  of  his  moral 
supremacy  had  already  disappeared  if  his  father  could 
take  it  into  his  hands  to  give  an  ultimatum  against 
his  expressed  wishes.  There  was  no  knowing  how  much 
further  it  would  be  damaged  if  he  were  encouraged,  as 
he  would  be  by  opposition  now  that  he  had  once  deliv- 
ered himself,  to  back  up  his  revolt  by  strong  speech. 
It  was  what  he  always  fortified  himself  with  either  be- 
fore or  after  the  process  of  putting  his  foot  down,  and 
Dick  had  no  mind  to  undergo  it. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said  quietly.  "  If  you  feel  like  that 
about  it,  there's  no  more  to  be  said.  It's  damned  awk- 
ward for  me,  but  I  suppose  I  took  too  much  on  my- 
self." 

The  Squire  immediately  recrossed  the  line,  on  the 
other  side  of  which  only  opposition  could  possibly  make 
him  wish  to  keep  his  footing.  "  Oh,  well,"  he  said,  "  of 
course  I  don't  say — in  this  instance — what  I  mean  is — 
well,  look  here,  Dick,  I  don't  say  anything  one  way  or 
the  other.  I'll  say  this,  my  boy,  you've  never  given  me 
the  slightest  trouble,  and  we've  always  seen  eye  to 
eye  in  pretty  well  everything,  and  where  we  haven't  at 
first  you  have  always  come  to  see  that  I  was  right  in 
the  end — eh.^  Better  let  me  think  the  question  over — 
what.^  I  don't  want  you  to  feel  you  can't  ask  your 
friends  to  this  house,  which  will  be  your  own  some  day." 

"  I  can  hardly  help  feeling  that,  can  1?  "  said  Dick, 
with  a  short  laugh. 

"Eh.?  Well,  I  must  think  it  over,  and  talk  it  over 
with  your  mother.  You'd  better  think  it  over  too,  old 
boy.  I  can't  help  thinking  you'll  feel  you  haven't  been 
very  wise.  We're  Chntons  of  Kencote,  you  know.  We 
owe  something  to  ourselves." 

But  Dick  could  stand  no  more.  "  All  right,"  he  said, 
rising.  "  I  think  I'll  go  up  and  have  a  bath  before 
dinner.     I'm  a  bit  stiff." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE    SQUIRE    FEELS    TROUBLE    COMING 

Dick  went  out  of  the  room  angry  with  himself,  angry 
with  his  father,  and  still  more  angry  with  his  brother. 
He  wanted  to  meet  Hmnphrey  and  have  it  out  with  him, 
and  he  knew  that  Humphrey  at  that  hour — about  seven 
o'clock — would  be  in  the  smoking-room.  But  he  went 
upstairs,  not  because  he  wanted  a  bath  before  dinner 
as  he  had  told  his  father,  and  certainly  not  because 
he  was  stiff  after  trotting  a  dozen  miles  or  so  along 
the  roads,  but  because  he  knew  that  it  was  not  wise  to 
have  anything  out  with  anybody  unless  you  had'  com- 
plete command  over  yourself.  So  he  went  into  his  big 
comfortable  bedroom,  where  a  bright  fire  was  burning, 
lit  some  candles,  and  threw  himself  into  an  easy-chair  to 
think  matters  out. 

That  his  father  would  give  way,  that  he  was  already 
in  process  of  giving  way,  he  was  well  assured.  He 
knew  how  to  work  that  all  right,  and  he  had  taken  no 
false  step,  as  far  as  he  could  remember,  in  dealing  with 
him.  But  that  little  fact  of  Virginia's  having  once 
danced  on  the  stage,  of  which  she  had  told  him  in  the 
early  days  of  their  friendship,  as  she  had  told  him 
everything  else  about  her  varied,  unhappy  life,  he  had 
never  thought  that  he — and  she — would  have  to  face. 
If  it  had  not  been  for  that,  his  father,  so  he  told  himself, 
would  have  given  way  already.  Knowing  it,  it  was 
surprising  that  he  had  left  anything  to  be  said  on  the 
subject  at  all.  He  need  never  have  known  it;  so  few 
people  did  know  it,  even  in  London,  where  Virginia 
was  beginning  to  be  well  known,  or  in  Leicestershire, 
where   she   was   very   well   known   indeed.      Of   course, 

78 


THE    SQUIRE    FEELS    TROUBLE      79 

Humphrey  knew  it — he  knew  all  that  sort  of  gossip 
about  everybody — and  Dick's  anger  against  him  began 
to  bum  as  he  imagined  the  way  in  which  he  would  have 
let  it  out.  He  was  like  a  spiteful  old  woman,  fiddling 
about  in  drawing-rooms,  whispering  scandal  into  other 
old  women's  ears  and  receiving  it  into  his  own  in  return. 

At  this  point  Humphrey  came  into  the  room. 
"  Hullo,  old  chap !  "  he  said.  "  What  on  earth  are  you 
doing  up  here.^     It  isn't  time  to  dress  yet." 

Dick  got  up  quickly  out  of  his  chair  and  faced  him. 
He  had  better  have  gone  to  him  in  the  smoking-room  at 
once  before  he  had  begun  to  think  things  over.  "  What 
the  devil  do  3^ou  mean  by  meddling  with  my  affairs  ?  " 
he  said  angril3^ 

Humphrey  stopped  short  and  stared  as  if  he  had  held 
a  pistol  to  his  head.  He  and  Dick  and  Walter  had 
been  closer  friends  than  most  brothers  are.  Their  ways 
for  some  time  had  begun  to  diverge,  but  they  had  re- 
mained friends,  and  since  their  boyhood  they  had  never 
quarrelled.  Such  a  speech  as  Dick's  was  in  effect  more 
than  a  pistol  held  to  his  head.     It  was  a  pistol  shot. 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  what  I  told  them  downstairs 
about  Virginia  Dubec,"  he  said. 

"  Virginia  Dubec  ?  Who  gave  you  the  right  to  call 
her  Virginia  ?  "  said  Dick  hotly,  and  could  have  bitten 
out  his  tongue  for  saying  it  the  moment  after,  for  of 
course  it  told  Humphrey  everything. 

But  Humphrey  was  too  deeply  astonished  at  the 
moment  to  take  in  anything.  He  thought  he  knew  his 
brother;  he  had  always  rather  admired  him,  and  above 
all  for  his  coolness.  But  if  this  was  Dick,  passionate 
and  indiscreet,  he  did  not  know  him  at  all,  and  it  was 
difficult  to  tell  how  to  deal  with  him. 

But  Humphrey  was  cool  too,  in  his  own  way,  hating 
the  discomfort  of  passion,  and  he  certainly  did  not 
want  to  have  a  row  with  his  elder  brother.  "  I  don't 
know  why  you're  up  against  me  like  this,"  he  said.     "  I 


80  THE    ELDEST   SON 

should  have  thought  we  knew  each  other  well  enough  by 
this  time  to  talk  over  anything  that  wants  talking  over, 
sensibly.  I'm  quite  ready  to  talk  over  anything  with 
you,  but  hadn't  we  better  go  and  do  it  downstairs? 
They'll  be  up  here  putting  out  your  clothes  directly." 

"  We'll  go  down  to  the  smoking-room,"  said  Dick, 
not  sorry  to  have  a  minute  or  two  in  which  to  pull  him- 
self together. 

So  they  went  downstairs  without  a  word,  and  along 
a  stone  passage  to  a  big  room  which  had  been  given 
over  to  them  as  boys,  because  it  was  right  away  from 
the  other  rooms,  and  in  which  they  knew  no  one  would 
disturb  them. 

Neither  of  them  spoke  at  once,  but  both  took  ciga- 
rettes from  a  box  on  a  table,  and  Humphrey  offered 
Dick  a  match,  which  he  refused,  lighting  one  for  him- 
self. 

"  Lady  George  Dubec,"  said  Dick — "  Virginia  Dubec, 
if  you  like  to  call  her  so — I've  no  objection — is  a  friend 
of  mine,  as  you  know.  She  wanted  a  quiet  place  to  hunt 
from  for  a  month  or  two,  and  I  said  I  w^ould  try  to 
find  her  a  house  here.  Of  course  I  told  her  that  they 
would  make  friends  with  her  from  here.  I  went  to  see 
her  this  afternoon,  and  I  come  back  to  find  you  have 
been  talking  scandal  about  her,  and  giving  the  gov- 
ernor the  impression  that  she's  an  impossible  sort  of 
creature  for  respectable  people  to  know.  Upon  my 
word,  Humphrey,  you  ought  to  be  kicked." 

Humphrey  grew  a  shade  paler,  but  he  asked  quietly, 
"  What  scandal  do  you  accuse  me  of  spreading  about 
her.?" 

"  Well,  it  isn't  scandal  in  the  sense  that  it's  untrue ; 
but  I  don't  suppose  a  dozen  people  know  that  she  was 
ever  on  the  stage.  It  was  only  for  a  few  months,  and 
the  circumstances  of  it  did  her  credit.  But  if  it  gets 
about,  it  will  do  her  harm.  As  far  as  the  governor  goes, 
of  course,  it  puts  him  up  on  his  hind  legs  at  once,  and 


THE    SQUIRE    FEELS    TROUBLE      81 

here  am  I  in  the  position  of  getting  this  quite  charming 
lady,  against  whom  nobody  can  say  a  word,  down  here, 
and  my  own  people  refusing  to  go  near  her.  It's  too 
bad.  If  you  happened  to  know  that  about  her,  which, 
of  course,  is  just  the  sort  of  thing  you  would  find  out 
and  remember  and  talk  about,  out  of  all  the  other  things 
you  might  say  about  a  woman  like  that,  you  ought  to 
have  kept  it  to  yourself.  And  you  would  have  done 
if  you  had  had  a  spark  of  decent  feeling." 

"  I  should  have  kept  it  to  myself  if  I  had  had  any 
idea  it  was  through  you  she  came  here." 

"  You  ought  to  have  kept  it  to  yourself  In  any  case. 
You  know  her,  you  know  what  she  is,  and  the  first  thing 
you  find  to  blurt  out  about  her  when  you  hear  she  has 
come  down  here  is  the  very  thing  that  you  know  will 
put  everybody  against  her !  " 

"  Look  here,  Dick,  there's  no  sense  in  going  on 
blackguarding  me  like  this.  I  hadn't  a  ghost  of  a 
notion  she  was  anywhere  near  here  when  I  told  them 
what  I  did.  The  moment  I  came  into  the  room  the  gov- 
ernor said,  '  We've  been  talking  about  Lady  George 
Dubec.  Do  you  know  her.^^ '  I  said,  '  Yes,  she's  a  very 
charming  lady.'  That  was  the  very  first  thing  I  said. 
Then  I  said,  '  She  was  an  actress  once  upon  a  time.' 
There's  nothing  in  that.  You  say  very  few  people  know 
it.  You're  quite  wrong.  Lots  of  people  know  it.  Why, 
even  Mrs.  Graham  knew  it,  and  had  seen  her.  Nobody 
thinks  anything  the  worse  of  her  for  it.  Why  should 
they  ?  And  anyhow  it  wasn't  until  afterwards  that  they 
told  me  that  she  had  come  down  here.  Then  I  said, 
'  Dick  knows  her  better  than  I  do ;  he'll  tell  you  all  you 
want  to  know.'  Really,  old  chap,  you're  a  bit  un- 
reasonable." 

Both  of  them  had  been  standing  so  far,  but  now 
Humphrey,  feeling  perhaps  that  the  crisis  had  been 
disposed  of,  threw  himself  Into  a  chair. 

►So  it  was,  on  the  surface.     Dick  stood  for  a  time 


82  THE    ELDEST   SON 

looking  down  on  the  floor.  If  it  was  as  Humphrey  had 
said,  and  he  had  not  known  that  Virginia  Dubec  was 
in  the  neighbourhood  until  after  he  had  let  out  that 
fact  about  her,  it  was  impossible  to  carry  the  attack 
further.  But  Dick  was  no  more  satisfied  with  him 
than  before.  The  hostility  he  had  felt  remained,  and 
was  destined  to  grow.  From  that  moment  the  common 
ground  of  easy,  tolerant  brotherhood  upon  which  they 
had  both  stood  for  so  long  was  left  behind.  Dick  had 
begun  to  criticise,  to  find  cause  for  dislike;  Humphrey 
had  received  an  affront,  and  he  did  not  easily  forgive 
an  affront. 

But  the  cement  of  their  years  of  frictionless  compan- 
ionship still  held,  and  could  not  be  broken  in  a  moment. 
Dick  also  took  a  chair.  "  Well,  if  you  didn't 
know "  he  said  rather  grudgingly. 

"No,  I  didn't  know,  and  I'm  sorry,"  said  Hum- 
phrey ;  "  the  governor  won't  hold  out,  Dick ;  he's  only 
got  to  see  her." 

It  was  the  best  thing  he  could  have  said.  Dick  was 
inwardly  gratified,  and  some  of  his  resentment  de- 
parted. "  You  needn't  say  anything  unless  he  opens 
the  subject,"  he  said.    "  But " 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  to  say  if  he  does,"  said  Hum- 
phrey.    "  I  say,  Dick,  old  chap,  is  it  a  case?  " 

Dick  was  not  at  all  ready  for  this — from  Humphrey, 
although  if  Walter  had  asked  him  he  might  have  ad- 
mitted how  much  of  a  case  it  was,  and  gained  some 
contentment  by  talking  it  over.  "  I  like  her,  of  course," 
he  said,  somewhat  impatiently ;  "  I've  never  disguised 
it.  I  suppose  one  is  permitted  to  make  friendship  with 
women  occasionally?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Humphrey,  with  rather  elaborate  un- 
concern. Then  Dick  said  he  was  going  up  to  dress, 
and  left  the  room  without  further  word,  while  Hum- 
phrey sat  a  while  longer  looking  at  the  fire  and  turn- 
ing things  over  in  his  mind. 


THE    SQUIRE    FEELS    TROUBLE      83 

Over  the  dinner-table  that  evening  there  was  talk  of 
the  forthcoming  Hunt  Ball,  and  the  one  or  two  others 
which  made  the  week  after  Christmas  a  short  season  of 
gaiety  in  South  Meadshire.  The  Birketts  were  coming 
to  stay  for  them,  the  Judge  and  his  wife  and  unmarried 
daughter,  and  his  other  daughter,  Lady  Senhouse,  with 
her  husband.  These  were  the  only  guests  invited  so 
far,  and  the  Squire,  who  liked  a  little  bustle  of  gaiety 
about  him  now  and  again,  said  that  they  must  ask  one 
or  two  more  people. 

"  We  shall  be  unusually  gay  this  year,"  he  said, 
"  with  the  ball  for  Grace  at  Kemsale,  which  is  sure  to 
be  well  done.  We  must  take  a  good  party  over  from 
Kencote.     Who  can  we  ask  "^  " 

It  was  a  somewhat  extraordinary  thing  that  a  ques- 
tion like  that  could  not  easily  be  answered  at  Kencote. 
The  Squire  very  seldom  left  home,  Mrs.  Clinton  prac- 
tically never,  and  in  the  course  of  years  the  families 
from  whom  they  could  draw  for  visitors  had  dwindled 
down  to  those  of  relations  and  county  neighbours.  The 
Squire  was  quite  satisfied  with  this  state  of  things. 
There  were  plenty  of  people  about  him  with  whom  he 
could  shoot,  and  who  would  shoot  with  him;  and  an 
occasional  dinner  party  was  all  or  more  than  he  wanted 
in  the  way  of  indoor  sociability — that,  and  this  yearly 
little  group  of  balls,  the  Hunt  Ball,  the  Bathgate  Ball, 
and  whatever  might  be  added  to  them  from  one  or 
other  of  the  big  houses  round.  Kencote  had  never  been 
one  of  those  houses.  Its  women  had  never  been  con- 
sidered of  enough  importance  to  make  the  trouble  and 
expense  of  ball-giving  worth  while,  and  the  men  could 
get  all  the  balls  they  wanted  elsewhere.  Before  Cicely 
was  married  her  brothers  had  generally  brought  a 
few  men  down  for  these  local  gaieties,  but  for  the 
past  two  years  there  had  been  no  party  from  Ken- 
cote. 

"  T  think  Lady  Aldeburgh  would  bring  Susan  Clin- 


84  THE   ELDEST   SON 

ton  if  you  were  to  ask  her,"  said  Humphrey.     "  In  fact, 
I'm  pretty  sure  she  would." 

Now  the  Countess  of  Aldeburgh  was  a  person  of 
some  importance  in  the  social  world,  and  her  husband 
was  sprung  from  the  same  race  as  the  Squire,  sprung, 
in  fact,  some  distance  back,  from  Kencote,  and  repre- 
sented, as  the  Squire  not  infrequently  pointed  out,  a 
junior  branch  of  the  family  of  which  he  himself  was 
the  head.  He  was  accustomed  to  speak  rather  pa- 
tronisingly  of  the  Aldeburgh  Clintons  on  that  account, 
although  not  to  them,  for  he  did  not  know  them,  the 
present  Lord  Aldeburgh  having  been  a  small  boy  at 
school  at  that  period  of  the  Squire's  life  when  he  had 
been  about  London  and  known  everybody. 

"Are  they  friends  of  yours.?"  he  asked,  not  dis- 
pleased at  the  idea. 

"  Yes,"  said  Humphrey.  "  I  told  Susan  Clinton  that 
she  ought  to  see  the  home  of  her  ancestors— I  was 
lunching  with  them — and  Lady  Aldeburgh  said  they 
couldn't  see  it  unless  they  were  asked." 

"  No  difficulty  about  asking  them,"  said  the  Squire. 
"  Very  pleased  to  see  them,  and  show  them  what  there 
is,  although  I  dare  say  they  won't  think  much  of  it  after 
the  sort  of  thing  they're  accustomed  to.  They  must 
take  us  as  they  find  us.  Did  you  say  anything  about 
these  balls?" 

"  Well,  yes,  I  did — threw  out  feelers,  you  know.  I 
think  they  w^ould  come  if  mother  were  to  ask  them." 

"  Oh,  write  by  all  means,  Nina,"  said  the  Squire. 
"  Include  Aldeburgh,  of  course." 

"  Oh,  he  won't  come,"  said  Humphrey.  "  He  never 
goes  where  they  do.     He  doesn't  like  them." 

The  Squire  frowned.  He  knew  there  were  people 
like  that,  but  he  didn't  want  to  hear  about  them.  Ac- 
cording to  his  old-fashioned  ideas,  husbands  and  wives, 
if  they  went  visiting  at  all,  ought  to  go  visiting  to- 
gether.    Of  course  it  was  different  where  a  man  might 


THE    SQUIRE    FEELS    TROUBLE      85 

have  to  go  up  to  London  for  a  day  or  two.  There  was 
no  necessity  always  to  take  his  wife  along  with  him. 
Or  he  might  perhaps  go  to  a  house  to  shoot.  That 
was  all  right.  But  for  women  to  make  a  point  of 
going  about  by  themselves — why,  they  had  much  better 
stop  at  home  and  look  after  their  household  duties. 
"  Well,  ask  him,  of  course,"  he  said.  "  He  can  refuse 
if  he  likes.  We  can  do  very  well  without  him.  Are 
either  of  you  boys  going  to  ask  any  men.'*" 

Dick  had  thought  of  bringing  a  friend.  Captain 
Vernon,  who  had  been  to  Kencote  before  and  would  be 
very  welcome.  And  Humphrey  was  going  to  ask  Lord 
Edgeware. 

"  What,  that  young  fool  who  lost  all  his  money  rac- 
ing? "  asked  the  Squire. 

"  He  didn't  lose  it  all,"  said  Humphrey,  "  and  he's 
had  a  lot  more  left  to  him." 

"  We  don't  want  that  sort  of  person  here,"  said  the 
Squire  decisively. 

"  All  right,"  said  Humphrey.  "  But  he's  a  very 
good  chap  all  the  same,  and  has  finished  sowing  his  wild 
oats." 

"  He's  an  absolute  rotter,"  said  Dick.  "  I  quite 
agree;  we  don't  want  that  sort  of  fellow  here." 

Humphrey  threw  a  glance  at  him  and  flushed  with 
annoyance,  but  he  said  lightly,  "  I  beg  to  withdraw  his 
candidature.  Is  there  any  objection  to  Bobby  Trench.'' 
He  hasn't  lost  money  racing;  I  think  he's  won  it,  if 
anything." 

Dick  was  silent.  The  Squire  enquired  if  Mr.  Trench 
was  one  of  Lord  So-and-so's  sons,  and  being  informed 
that  he  was,  said  that  he  had  known  his  father  and 
should  be  pleased  to  see  him  at  Kencote.  So  the  party 
was  made  up,  and  the  men  went  on  to  talk  about 
pheasants  and  hounds,  until  the  twins  came  in  for  des- 
sert, when  they  went  on  talking  about  pheasants  and 
hounds. 


86  THE    ELDEST    SON 

The  Squire  and  Dick  went  into  the  library  to  go 
over  their  farm  papers  together  almost  immediately 
after  dinner,  leaving  Humphrey  with  his  mother  and 
the  girls  in  the  morning-room.  When  they  had  fin- 
ished they  betook  themselves  to  easy-chairs  to  talk,  as 
their  custom  was  in  the  evening.  They  were  very  good 
friends,  and  had  enough  in  common  to  make  their  con- 
versation mutually  agreeable.  Neither  of  them  read 
much,  and  when  Dick  was  at  Kencote  they  usually  spent 
their  evenings  talking.  But  Dick  was  rather  silent 
to-night,  and  the  Squire  was  uneasily  conscious  of  the 
shadow  that  had  fallen  on  their  intercourse.  And  when 
he  was  uneasy  about  anything  his  uneasiness  always 
found  expression. 

"  I  say,  my  boy,  I  hope  you  don't  take  it  amiss  what 
I  said  about  this  Lady  George  Dubec  this  afternoon," 
he  said.     "You  see  my  point  all  right,  don't  you.^^" 

"  I  see  your  point  well  enough,"  said  Dick.  "  Only 
I  don't  think  it's  much  of  a  point." 

He  was  accustomed  thus  to  address  his  father  on 
equal  terms,  and  the  Squire  liked  to  have  it  so.  He 
was  now  only  anxious,  while  having  his  own  way,  to 
avoid  the  unpleasantness  of  leaving  a  grudge  against 
himself  in  Dick's  mind. 

"  Well,  we  needn't  go  all  over  it  again,"  he  said. 
"  I  haven't  made  up  my  mind  yet.  I  don't  say  your 
mother  shan't  call  and  I  don't  say  she  shall.  I  must 
think  it  over.  Of  course  it's  a  bit  awkward  for 
you." 

"  It's  more  than  a  bit  awkward  for  me,"  said  Dick 
uncompromisingly.  "  When  you  do  think  it  over  you 
might  consider  how  particularly  awkward  it  is,  after 
having  helped  this  lady  to  a  house  here,  to  have  to  tell 
her  that  my  people  don't  consider  her  respectable 
enough  to  know." 

"  H'm !  Ha !  "  grunted  the  Squire,  at  a  loss  how  to 
meet  this.     Then  he  made  a  clutch  at  his  authority, 


THE    SQUIRE    FEELS    TROUBLE     87 

"  Well,  I  think  you  ought  to  have  asked  me  first,  Dick," 
he  said,  "  and  not  taken  things  for  granted.  If  I'm 
putting  jou  in  an  awkward  position  now,  it's  because 
you  have  put  me  in  an  awkward  position  first." 

There  was  reason  in  this,  perhaps  more  than  the 
Squire  usually  displayed  in  discussing  a  subject  in  which 
his  feelings  were  already  engaged,  and  Dick  did  not 
want  to  go  over  the  ground  again  until  matters  had 
advanced  themselves  a  stage. 

"  She  will  be  at  the  meet  on  Monday — driving,"  he 
said.  "  You  will  see  what  she  is  like,  and  that  she  isn't  in 
the  least  like  what  you  probably  think  she  is.  I  should 
like  to  introduce  you  to  her,  but  that  shall  be  as  you 
please." 

The  Squire  did  not  reply  to  this.  He  sat  looking  at 
the  fire  with  a  puzzled  frown  on  his  face.  Then  he 
turned  to  his  son  and  said,  "  There's  nothing  between 
you  and  this  lady,  Dick,  is  there  .^  You  hadn't  got  her 
in  your  mind  last  night  when  you  said  that  you  did  not 
want  to  marry  a  young  girl.?  " 

Dick  cursed  himself  inwardly  for  having  made  that 
unlucky  speech.  He  was  not  cut  out  for  however  mild 
a  conspiracy,  and  he  hated  to  have  to  fence  and  parry. 
But  he  must  answer  quickly  if  suspicion,  which  would 
be  disastrous  at  the  present  stage,  were  not  to  rest 
on  him.  He  gave  a  little  laugh.  "  Is  that  what  you 
have  been  thinking  oi?  "  he  asked.  "  Is  that  why  you 
don't  want  mother  to  call  on  Lady  George  .^^  " 

The  Squire  had  only  to  push  his  question,  and  he 
would  have  learnt  everything,  for  Dick  would  not  have 
denied  Virginia.  But  he  did  not  do  so.  "  No,  of  course 
not,"  he  said.  "  But  if  it  were  so — if  that's  how  the 
land  lay " 

Dick  did  not  tell  him  that  that  was  not  how  the  land 
lay.  He  said  nothing,  and  the  Squire  relinquished  the 
subject,  not  to  open  it  up  again  until  he  was  alone  with 
his  wife  that  night.     Then  his  disquietude  came  out. 


88  THE   ELDEST   SON 

for  Dick's  reply  to  his  question  had  not  satisfied  him, 
and  putting  two  and  two  together,  as  he  said,  and  im- 
pelled towards  dreadful  conclusions  by  his  habit  of 
making  the  most  of  vague  fears,  he  had  now  fully  con- 
vinced himself  that  the  land  did  indeed  lie  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Lady  George  Dubec,  now  settled  within  a  mile 
or  two,  at  Blaythorn,  and  that,  unless  he  could  do  some- 
thing to  stop  it,  a  most  dreadful  catastrophe  was  about 
to  ove'rtake  the  house  of  Clinton. 

Mrs.  Clinton  could  do  little  to  calm  his  fears.  Pri- 
vately she  thought  that  he  was  making  a  mountain  out 
of  a  mole-hill,  and  that  Dick  was  as  little  likely  as  the 
Squire  himself  to  marry  such  a  woman  as  she  imagined 
Lady  George  Dubec  to  be.  For  she  knew  how  much 
alike  her  husband  and  her  son  were  in  all  the  essential 
aims  and  ambitions  of  their  lives,  although  she  knew 
also  that  Dick  had  a  far  cooler  head  and  a  better  brain 
than  his  father's.  For  that  very  reason  he  was  the  less 
likely  to  make  a  marriage  which  would  be  beneath  the 
dignity  of  his  family.  She  said  what  she  could  to  per- 
suade her  husband  that  Dick  might  be  trusted  in  a 
matter  of  this  sort,  but  he  was  in  that  stage  of  alarm 
when  however  much  a  man  may  desire  to  find  himself 
mistaken  he  resists  all  attempts  to  prove  him  so.  "  I 
tell  you,  Nina,"  he  said,  "  that  he  told  me  himself  that 
when  he  did  marry  it  would  be  a  middle-aged  woman,  or 
words  to  that  effect.  And  he  gets  this  woman  down 
here  without  saying  a  word  to  us  about  it,  and  they 
say  she's  good-looking — you  heard  Humphrey  say  that 
yourself,  and  Mrs.  Graham  too — and  he  goes  over  there 
this  afternoon  without  mentioning  it. — By  Jove !  didn't 
he  say  he  wanted  to  go  and  see  Jim  at  Mountfield?  Yes, 
he  did, — you  remember — at  luncheon.  Nina,  I'm  afraid 
there's  no  doubt  about  it.  Can't  you  see  what  a  dread- 
ful thing  it  would  be,  and  that  we  must  stop  it  at  any 
cost.?" 

"  I  hope  it  will  not  come  about,"  said  Mrs.  Clinton. 


THE    SQUIRE    FEELS    TROUBLE     89 

"  Dick  is  levcl-hcadcd,  and  he  sees  questions  of  this 
sort  in  much  the  same  Wrrht  as  jou  do,  Edward." 

"  It  would  be  intolerable,"  wailed  the  poor  Squire. 
"  And  Dick  of  all  people !  I'd  have  trusted  him  any- 
where. And  now  I  shall  have  to  stand  up  against  him, 
and  it  will  be  one  of  the  hardest  things  I  have  ever  had 
to  do.  But  I  won't  let  him  throw  himself  away  and 
drag  the  old  name  in  the  dust  if  I  can  possibly  prevent 
it.  And,  God  helping  me,  I  will  prevent  it,  whatever 
it  costs  me.  Nina,  you  are  not  to  go  near  this  woman. 
The  only  way  is  to  keep  her  at  arm's-length.  If 
re  stand  firm  the  affair  will  fade  out,  and  l5ick  will 
forget  all  about  it.  He  has  always  been  a  good  boy. 
IVe  been  proud  of  my  son.  He  will  thank  me  some  day 
for  saving  him  from  himself.  Good-night,  Nina,  God 
bless  you.  There's  a  difficult  time  coming  for  us  at 
Kencote,  I'm  afraid." 

So  night  and  silence  fell  on  the  great  house.  Its 
master,  always  healthily  tired  after  his  day,  spent  mostly 
in  the  open,  soon  forgot  his  troubles  in  sleep;  its  mis- 
tress lay  awake  for  a  long  time,  wondering  if  trouble 
were  really  going  to  befall  her  first-bom,  who  had  gone 
so  far  from  her  since  she  had  first  hugged  him  to  her 
breast.  And  in  other  rooms  in  the  house  there  were 
those  who  lay  awake  and  wearied  themselves  with  the 
troubles  of  life  or  slept  soundly  without  a  care,  some 
of  them  of  account  in  the  daily  comings  and  goings, 
some  of  very  little,  but  one  and  all  acting  and  reacting 
on  one  another,  concerned  in  some  degree  in  a  common 
life. 


CHAPTER  IX 


DICK    PAYS    A    SUNDAY    VISIT 


It  did  not  take  Dick  long  to  find  out  on  that  next 
(Sunday)  morning  that  his  diplomacy  had  failed,  that 
his  father,  urged  by  his  fears,  had  discovered  what  he 
would  have  hidden  from  him  for  a  time,  or  thought  he 
had  discovered  it,  which  came  to  the  same  thing,  since 
it  was  true,  and  that  he  might  just  as  well  have  an- 
nounced his  intention  of  marrying  Virginia  Dubec,  and 
entered  at  once  upon  the  struggle  which  was  now  bound 
to  come  in  any  case. 

Nothing  was  said  on  either  side,  and  the  Squire  did 
his  best  to  behave  as  usual.  But  the  attempt  was  too 
much  for  him,  and  there  was  no  one  who  did  not  know 
before  breakfast  was  over  that  there  was  a  disturbance 
in  the  air.  He  would  enter  upon  a  course  of  conversa- 
tion with  gaiety,  and  relinquish  it  immediately  to  frown 
upon  his  plate.  He  grumbled  at  everything  upon  the 
table,  and  testily  rebuked  the  twins  for  fidgeting.  They 
took  the  rebuke  calmly,  knowing  quite  well  what  it  por- 
tended, and  were  only  anxious  to  discover  the  cause  of 
the  upset. 

"  It's  this  Lady  George  Dubec,"  said  Joan,  when 
they  were  alone  together.  "  There's  something  fishy 
about  her ;  it  must  have  come  out  after  we  were  sent 
away  yesterday.  Father  thinks  he's  Emperor  of  this 
part  of  Meadshire,  and  he  doesn't  like  her  coming  here 
without  his   being   consulted." 

"  I  don't  think  it's  that  at  all,"  said  Nancy.  "  I 
believe  it's  Humphrey's  debts.  Father  has  got  pots 
of  money,  but  he  hates  shelling  it  out.  He  was  snappy 
with  Humphrey  this  morning." 

90 


DICK   PAYS    A    SUNDAY   VISIT        91 

"  So  he  was  with  everybody  but  Dick.  That  proves 
nothing.  A  week's  pocket-money  that  It's  this  Lady 
George." 

"  Dick  said  we  weren't  to  bet." 

"  Oh,  well,  perhaps  we'd  better  not,  then.  He  was  a 
brick  about  the  camera.  I  don't  suppose  he's  concerned 
in  it,  whatever  it  is.    With  father,  Dick  does  no  wrong." 

"  I'm  not  sure.  Joan,  supposing  Dick  has  fallen  in 
love  with  Lady  George  and  father  is  upset  about  It !  " 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  do  talk  sense.  Dick  in  love  with  a 
widow  I  " 

"  Stranger  things  have  happened.  Anyhow,  we'll 
leave  no  stone  unturned  to  find  out  what  it  is." 

"  Oh,  we'll  ferret  it  out  all  right.  It  will  add  to  the 
interest  of  life." 

There  was  one  thing  that  the  Squire  always  did  on 
the  rare  occasions  on  which  he  found  himself  in  a 
dilemma,  and  that  was  to  consult  his  half-brother,  the 
Rector.  Consequently  when,  after  church,  meeting 
Mrs.  Beach,  the  Rector's  wife,  in  the  churchyard,  he 
asked  her  if  she  and  Tom  would  come  up  to  luncheon, 
Dick,  overhearing  him,  smiled  inwardly  and  a  little 
ruefully,  and  pictured  to  himself  the  sitting  that  would 
be  held  In  the  afternoon,  when  the  Rector  would  be  in- 
vited into  the  library  and  the  Squire  would  unbosom 
himself  of  his  difficulties.  Dick  himself  had  often  joined 
in  these  conclaves.  "  Let's  see  what  Tom  has  to  say 
about  it,"  his  father  would  say.  "  He  has  a  good  head, 
Tom."  Dick  would  be  left  out  of  this  conclave,  but 
as  he  thought  of  the  line  that  his  uncle  was  likely  to 
take,  he  half  wished  that  he  had  had  a  conclave  with  him 
himself  beforehand.  The  Rector  was  a  man  of  peace,  a 
lovable  man,  who  hated  to  see  any  one  uncomfortable, 
and  perhaps,  for  a  churchman,  hated  a  little  too  much 
to  run  the  risk  of  discomfort  himself.  Probably  he 
would  have  sympathised.  Certainly  he  would  have 
brought  no  hard  judgment  to  bear  on  Virginia,  what' 


92  THE    ELDEST    SON 

ever  she  had  done  and  whatever  she  had  been.  How- 
ever, it  was  too  late  to  think  of  that  now,  and  when 
Joan  asked  him  at  luncheon  if  he  would  go  for  a  walk 
with  them  in  the  afternoon,  he  took  the  bull  by  the  horns 
and  said  that  he  was  going  to  drive  over  to  Blaythorn. 

"  By  the  by,"  said  Mrs.  Beach,  not  noticing  the 
Squire's  sudden  frown,  "  have  you  heard  that  Mr. 
Marsh  has  let  his  rectory  to  a  hunting  lady  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Dick,  "  Lady  George  Dubec.  She  is  a 
friend  of  mine,  and  I'm  going  over  to  see  her." 

Never  had  the  Squire  spoken  with  more  difficulty. 
But  it  behoved  him  to  speak,  and  to  speak  at  once.  "  I 
am  very  sorry  she  has  come,"  he  said.  "  She  is  a  friend 
of  Dick's  in  London,  but  we  can't  recognise  her  here 
at  Kencote." 

Except  that  the  servants  were  not  in  the  room  it  was 
a  public  throwing  down  of  the  gage  of  battle.  It 
amounted  on  the  Squire's  part  to  an  affront  of  his  son, 
the  being  he  loved  best  in  the  world,  and  he  would  have 
put  it  on  him  if  the  whole  household  had  been  present. 
But  what  it  cost  him  to  do  so  could  be  told  from  his 
moody  fits  of  silence  during  the  rest  of  the  meal,  his 
half-emptied  plate  and  his  twice-emptied  glass. 

Dick  took  the  blow  without  flinching,  although  he 
was  inwardly  consumed  with  anger,  not  at  the  affront 
to  himself,  but  to  Virginia.  "  We  are  a  little  behind 
the  times  at  Kencote,"  he  said  lightly.  "  But  we  shall 
probably  fall  into  line  by  and  by." 

The  Squire  made  no  answer.  He  had  shot  his  bolt 
and  had  none  of  the  ammunition  of  repartee  at  hand. 
The  awkward  moment  was  covered  by  the  immediate 
flow  of  conversation,  but  he  took  little  or  no  part  in  it, 
and  it  was  a  relief  when  the  meal  was  over. 

When  the  Squire  had  led  the  way  into  the  library  and 
shut  the  door  upon  himself  and  the  Rector,  he  broke 
out  at  once.  "  Tom,  you  heard  what  happened.  Dick 
is  out  of  his  mind  about  this  woman.    Unless  something 


DICK   PAYS   A    SUNDAY   VISIT        93 

can  be  done  to  stop  it,  a  dreadful  day  is  coming  to 
Kencote." 

The  Rector,  tall,  fleshy,  slow  in  movement,  mild  of 
speech,  was  astonished.  "  My  dear  Edward !  "  he  ex- 
claimed. "  I  did  not  gather  from  what  passed  that — 
that  this  meant  anything  serious." 

"  Oh,  serious !  "  echoed  the  Squire,  half  distraught. 
"  It's  as  serious  as  it  can  be,  Tom."  And  he  told  him 
in  his  own  decisive  manner  exactly  how  serious  it  seemed 
to  him  to  be.  "  A  hunting  woman !  "  he  ended  up.  "  I 
could  have  forgiven  that.  I  can't  deny  that  women 
do  hunt,  now,  who  wouldn't  have  done  in  our  young 
days.  An  American !  Well,  people  do  marry  them 
nowadays — but  an  American  at  Kencote  after  all  these 
generations  !  Think  of  it,  Tom !  And  if  that  were  only 
the  worst !  But  a  stage  dancer !  A  woman  who  has 
shown  herself  before  the  public — for  money !  And  a 
widow ! — a  woman  who  has  been  married  to  one  of  the 
worst  blackguards  in  England.  You  remember  him, 
Tom— at  Eton." 

"  No,"  said  the  Rector.     "  He  was  before  my  time." 

"  Before  your  time — yes,  and  three  or  four  years 
older  than  I  am.  He'd  have  been  an  old  man  if  he'd 
been  alive  now.  And  it's  the  widow  of  that  man  my  son 
wants  to  marry.  Isn't  it  too  shameful,  Tom?  What 
can  have  come  over  him?  He  has  never  acted  in  this 
sort  of  way  before.  My  boy  Dick !  In  everything  that 
has  ever  happened  to  annoy  me,  he  has  always  be- 
haved just  exactly  as  I  would  have  my  son  behave. 
And  now  he  brings  this  trouble  on  me.  Oh,  Tom,  tell 
me  what  on  earth  I'm  to  do." 

The  poor  gentleman  was  so  overcome  with  distress 
that  it  was  pitiful  to  witness.  The  Rector  knew  how 
he  took  things — hard  at  first,  and  bringing  his  heaviest 
weight  of  resistance  to  bear  upon  the  lightest  obstacles, 
but  calming  down  after  he  had  been  humoured  a  bit, 
accepting  the  inevitable  like  a  sensible  man,  and  mak- 


94  THE    ELDEST    SON 

ing  the  best  of  it.  But  this  was  beyond  the  point  at 
which  he  could  be  humoured.  It  struck  at  all  that 
he  held  dearest  in  life,  the  welfare  of  his  son,  the  dig- 
nity of  his  house.  He  would  not  give  way  here,  what- 
ever distress  it  cost  him  to  hold  out. 

"Have  you  seen  this  lady,  Edward.'^"  asked  the 
Rector. 

"  Oh,  seen  her !  No,"  replied  the  Squire.  "  Why 
should  I  want  to  see  her.^^  She  may  be  good-looking. 
They  say  she  is.  I  suppose  Dick  wouldn't  have  fallen 
in  love  with  her  if  she  were  not,  and  at  any  rate  women 
who  are  not  good-looking  don't  become  pets  of  the 
stage,  as  I'm  told  this  woman  was.  Pah !  It's  beyond 
everything  I  could  have  believed  of  Dick.  I  would 
rather  he  had  married  the  daughter  of  a  farm-labourer 
— a  girl  of  clean  healthy  English  stock.  To  bring  a 
creature  from  behind  the  footlights  and  make  her  mis- 
tress of  Kencote — a  soiled  woman — that's  what  she  is, 
even  if  she  has  never  sold  herself — and  who  knows  that 
she  hasn't  .^^  She  did  sell  herself — to  a  broken-down 
roue,  a  man  old  enough  to  be  her  father — for  his 
wretched  title,  I  suppose.  And  now  she  wants  to  buy 
Kencote,  and  my  son,  Dick,  the  straightest,  finest  fel- 
low a  father  ever  had  reason  to  be  proud  of.  I  tell  you, 
Tom,  the  world  ought  to  be  delivered  of  these  harpies. 
They  ought  to  be  locked  up,  Tom,  locked  up,  and  the 
wickedness  whipped  out  of  them." 

"  Has  Dick  said  that  he  wanted  to  marry  her.^ " 
asked  the  Rector,  anxious  to  bring  this  tirade,  which 
was  gathering  in  intensity,  to  an  end. 

"  It's  as  plain  as  it  can  be.  He  has  brought  her 
down  here,  and  he  wants  us  to  take  her  up." 

"Well,  but  is  that  all,  Edward .^^  Surely  you  have 
more  to  go  on  than  that,  if  you  have  made  up  your  mind 
that  he  wants  to  marry  her." 

"  I  have  more  to  go  on.  He  told  me  only  two  nights 
ago  that  he  was  quite  ready   to  marry,  and  that  he 


DICK    PAYS    A    SUNDAY    VISIT        95 

wouldn't  marry  a  girl.  That's  plain  English,  isn't  it? 
And  this  comes  just  on  top  of  it.  Why,  he  had  her 
down  here — fixed  it  all  up  for  her — and  never  said  a 
word  to  us  till  after  we'd  heard  from  outside  that  she 
was  there.  There  are  a  lot  of  things.  I  can  put  two 
and  two  together  as  well  as  anybody,  and  I  haven't  a 
doubt  of  it.  And  I  asked  him  definitely,  yesterday,  and 
he  didn't  deny  it." 

"  He  didn't  acknowledge  it,  I  suppose." 

"  I  tell  you  he  didn't  deny  it.  He  gave  me  an  evasive 
answer.  That  isn't  hke  Dick.  She  has  had  a  bad  in- 
fluence on  him  already.  Don't  waste  time  in  trying  to 
persuade  me  that  black  is  white,  Tom.  Tell  me  how  I 
am  to  stop  this." 

The  Rector  could  not  tell  him  how  to  stop  it.  He 
knew  very  well  that  Dick  was  a  stronger  man  than 
his  father,  and  that  if  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  do 
a  thing  he  would  do  it.  But  he  still  doubted  whether 
he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  do  this  particular  thing. 
He  thought  that  the  Squire  was  probably  alarming 
himself  needlessly,  and  with  all  the  art  that  lay  in  his 
power  he  tried  to  persuade  him  that  it  was  so.  "  Young 
men,"  he  ended,  "  do  make  friends  with  women  they 
wouldn't  want  to  marry.  You  know  that  is  so,  Ed- 
ward.    It  is  no  use  shutting  your  eyes  to  facts." 

"  Yes,  but  they  don't  bring  them  down  to  their  homes 
for  their  mothers  and  sisters  to  make  friends  with," 
retorted  the  Squire.  "  It's  the  last  thing  Dick  would 
do,  and  I'd  rather  he  did  what  he's  doing  now,  bad  as 
it  is,  than  do  a  thing  like  that.  He's  hypnotised — 
that's  what  it  is — he  thinks  she's  a  good  woman — every- 
thing she  ought  to  be " 

"  And  perhaps  she  is  a  good  woman,  Edward,  and 
everything  she  ought  to  be,"  interrupted  the  Rector, 
speaking  more  emphatically  than  was  his  wont,  for  in 
his  simple  unworldliness  it  had  not  occurred  to  him 
that  his  last  words  could  bear  the  interpretation  the 


96  THE    ELDEST    SON 

Squire  had  put  upon  them,  and  he  was  rather  scan- 
dahsed.  "  I  say  that  you  ought  to  hold  your  judgment 
until  you  have  seen  her,  and  know  something  of  her  at 
first  hand.  I  do  not  beheve  that  Dick  would  expect  his 
family  to  make  friends  with  a  lady  who  was  not  above 
reproach,  and  I  certainly  never  meant  for  a  moment  to 
imply  that  he  would  do  such  a  thing  as  make  love  to  a 
woman  he  did  not  intend  to  marry.  When  I  said  that 
men  make  friends  with  women,  I  meant  no  more  than 
I  said." 

"  Well,  you're  a  parson,"  said  his  brother,  "  and 
you've  got  to  keep  your  eyes  shut  to  certain  things  that 
go  on,  I  suppose." 

"  No,  Edward,  that  is  not  the  duty  of  a  parson," 
returned  the  Rector.  "  I  shut  my  eyes  to  nothing.  It 
seems  to  me  that  you  do.  It  seems  to  me  that  you  shut 
your  eyes  to  what  you  know  of  Dick's  character.  You 
picture  to  yourself  a  vulgar,  scheming  adventuress.  I 
say  that  if  Dick  is  in  love  with  this  lady,  as  you  say 
he  is,  she  is  not  that,  but  something  very  different,  and 
I  say  again  that  you  ought  to  withhold  your  judgment 
until  you  have  seen  her." 

"  As  far  as  seeing  her  goes,"  grumbled  the  Squire, 
"  there's  nothing  easier  than  that.  I  shall  see  her  at 
the  covert-side,  and  I  dare  say  I  shall  see  her  scamper- 
ing all  over  the  county  covered  with  mud,  and  getting 
in  the  way  of  the  hounds.  Women  are  an  infernal 
nuisance  in  the  hunting-field.  Well,  you  don't  give  me 
much  comfort,  Tom.  Still,  it  does  one  some  good  to 
talk  over  one's  troubles.  I'm  afraid  this  is  going  to  be 
a  big  trouble — the  biggest  I've  ever  had  in  my 
hfe." 

"  Then  don't  meet  it  half-way,"  said  the  Rector. 
"  You  don't  know  for  certain  that  Dick  wants  to  marry 
her,  and  if  he  does  she  can't  be  anything  like  you  have 
imagined  her.  I'm  afraid  I  must  go  now,  Edward.  I 
have  to  look  in  at  the  Sunday-school." 


DICK   PAYS   A    SUNDAY    VISIT        97 

"  Well,  good-bye,  Tom,  my  dear  fellow.  Tell  'em 
in  the  Sunday-school  to  obey  their  parents.  Yes,  for 
this  is  right,  by  George !  the  Bible  says.  And  so  it  is ; 
if  children  would  obey  their  parents,  half  the  trouble 
in  the  world  would  disappear." 

Dick  was  not  best  pleased,  when  he  drove  up  to  the 
door  of  Blaythorn  Rectory,  to  hear  that  her  ladyship 
had  gone  for  a  walk  with  Miss  Dexter,  and  would  not 
be  back  for  an  hour  or  more.  He  had  not  told  her 
that  he  was  coming  over,  and  had  not  intended  to  do 
so.  Horses  were  not  taken  out  of  the  Kencote  stables 
on  Sundays  without  necessity.  He  said  he  would  wait, 
and  went  into  the  drawing-room  to  get  what  consola- 
tion he  could  out  of  his  own  thoughts  until  Virginia 
should  return. 

He  had  been  there  about  half  an  hour,  sometimes 
walking  up  and  down  the  room,  sometimes  reading  a 
few  pages  of  a  book  and  throwing  it  impatiently  on 
one  side,  sometimes  sitting  staring  moodily  into  the 
fire,  when  he  heard  voices  in  the  hall.  A  look  of  relief 
came  over  his  face  and  he  got  up,  prepared  to  greet 
Virginia,  when  the  door  was  opened  and  Mrs.  Graham 
was  show^n  into  the  room.  She  was  dressed  in  her  usual 
serviceable  walking  clothes  and  had  a  dog-whip  in  her 
hand,  although  she  had  left  her  dogs  for  the  time  being 
outside. 

"  Good  gracious,  Dick !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  They  told 
me  there  was  nobody  here." 

"  The  other  maid  let  me  in,"  said  Dick.  He  could 
not  for  the  life  of  him  prevent  himself  feeling  and 
looking  shamefaced. 

Mrs.  Graham  took  no  notice  of  it.  She  walked 
straight  to  a  little  writing-table  in  the  corner  of  the 
room  and  sat  down.  "  As  I  suppose  you  are  wondering 
what  on  earth  I  am  doing  here,"  she  said,  "  I'll  tell  you. 
I  had  a  letter  this  morning  from  Anne  Conyers,  who 
asked  me  to  come  and  see  Lady  George,  as  she  didn't 


98  THE    ELDEST    SON 

know  a  soul  in  the  county.  I'm  only  too  pleased  to; 
we're  such  a  set  of  rustics  here  that  it  does  us  good 
to  get  somebody  new,  if  they're  not  nincompoops  like 
those  people  we've  just  got  rid  of  at  Mountfield.  I 
thought  I  would  drop  in  this  afternoon.  If  she's  sensi- 
ble she  won't  mind  my  coming  in  these  clothes.  If  she 
isn't  I  don't  want  to  know  her.  You  know  her;  you 
don't  think  she'll  mind,  eh.^  " 

"  Oh,   of  course  not." 

"  I'm  just  going  to  write  her  a  note  asking  her  to 
dine  to-morrow.  Jim  and  Muriel  are  coming,  and 
Roddy  Buckstone.  Will  you  and  Humphrey  come, 
Dick.?    We  don't  want  too  many  women." 

"  I  don't  know  about  Humphrey.  I  shall  be  pleased 
to." 

"  Well,  that's  all  right.  You  might  take  a  message 
from  me  to  Humphrey." 

"  I'd  rather  you  wrote  a  note  to  him — and  posted  it." 

"  Oh ! "  said  Mrs.  Graham  in  a  voice  that  invited 
explanation. 

But  Dick  gave  none. 

"  Lady  George  has  a  friend  staying  with  her — Miss 
Dexter,"  he  said.     "  You'd  better  ask  her  too,  I  think." 

"  Oh,  of  course.  Thank  you  for  telling  me.  Miss 
Dexter." 

She  wrote  her  note,  fastened  and  directed  it,  dwell- 
ing rather  deliberately  on  the  process  as  she  neared  its 
completion.  She  seemed  as  if  she  were  turning  over 
in  her  mind  something  to  say,  but  finally  rose,  and  said, 
"  Well,  I  suppose  she'll  get  that  when  she  comes  in. 
I'll  take  myself  and  the  dogs  back  to  Mountfield 
now." 

"  Why  don't  you  wait  and  see  her.?  "  asked  Dick, 
rather  grudgingly,  for  he  didn't  want  Mrs.  Graham  to 
stay.     "  She  can't  be  long  now." 

Mrs.  Graham  looked  at  him  shrewdly.  "  I  don't 
think  I  will,"  she  said.     "  She'll  be  out  with  the  hounds 


DICK    PAYS    A    SUNDAY    VISIT        99 

to-morrow,  I  suppose.  Look  here,  Dick,  I  don't  know 
whether  I'm  a  fool  to  say  anything  or  not,  and  I  don't 
want  to  mix  myself  up  in  other  people's  business,  but 
Anne  Conyers  told  me  that  Lady  George  was  a  friend 
of  yours,  and  that  you  had  got  her  this  house.  We'll 
see  that  she  gets  on  here  all  right." 

She  gave  him  a  knowing  nod  which  made  him  reply — 

"  Oh,  you  mean  that  there's  likely  to  be  trouble  at 
Kencote.  Well,  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  there  is 
trouble.  My  father  announced  to-day  before  Tom  and 
Grace  and  the  whole  family  that  Lady  George  Dubec 
might  be  good  enough  for  me  to  know  in  London,  but 
she  wasn't  good  enough  for  him  or  anybody  to  know 
at  Kencote."  He  spoke  bitterly,  and  as  Mrs.  Graham, 
who  knew  him  well,  had  never  heard  him  speak  of  his 
father. 

"  Did  he?  "  she  said.  "  Well,  that's  what,  if  I  were 
a  man,  I  should  call  rather  thick.  Still,  he'll  probably 
come  round,  and  if  he  doesn't  he  is  not  the  only  person 
in  South  Meadshire,  though  he  sometimes  behaves  as 
if  he  thought  he  was.  Good-bye,  Dick ;  to-morrow  at 
eight  o'clock,  then.  I'll  write  to  Humphrey,  though  I 
shan't  break  my  heart  if  he  doesn't  come." 

Dick  let  her  out  at  the  front  door,  where  she  was 
vociferously  greeted  by  her  pack,  and  then  returned 
to  the  drawing-room.  "  And  I  wonder  what  shell  be 
thinking  as  she  goes  home,"  he  said  to  himself. 

Virginia  came  into  the  room  alone  when  she  and  Miss 
Dexter  returned.  Dick  could  hear  her  glad  little  cry 
of  surprise  outside  when  she  was  told  he  was  there,  and 
it  made  him  catch  his  breath  with  a  queer  mixture  of 
sensations.  She  brought  a  cool  fresh  fragrance  into 
the  room  with  her,  and  he  thought  he  had  never  seen 
her  look  sweeter,  with  her  rather  frail  beauty  warmed 
into  sparkling  life  by  the  exercise  she  had  taken  in  the 
sharp  winter  air  and  her  pleasure  at  finding  him  there 
on  her  return. 


100  THE    ELDEST    SON 

Sitting  by  her  side  on  the  sofa  he  told  her  what  had 
happened,  and  she  took  the  news  thoughtfully  and 
sadly.  "  He  must  be  rather  terrible,  your  father,"  she 
said,  "  and  cleverer  than  you  thought  too,  Dick,  if  he 
suspects  already  what  is  between  us." 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  it's  I  who  am  not  so  clever  as  I 
thought  myself,"  he  said.  "  When  he  asked  me  point- 
blank  I  couldn't  tell  him  a  lie.  But  I  own  I  never 
thought  he  would  ask  me.  It  was  from  something  I 
had  said  to  him  the  night  before,  about  not  wanting  to 
marry  a  youngster.  I  don't  know  why  on  earth  I  was 
fool  enough  to  say  it,  and  put  him  on  the  scent.  I 
suppose  I  was  thinking  such  a  lot  of  you,  my  girl. 
I  can't  get  you  out  of  my  head,  you  know.  But 
the  fact  is  I'm  not  cut  out  for  a  conspirator,  Vir- 
ginia, and  now  that  all  my  carefully  laid  plans  have 
come  to  nothing,  I'm  not  sure  that  I'm  not  rather 
relieved." 

"  You    think    they    have    quite    come    to    nothing, 

"  It  looks  like  it.  We  shall  know  to-morrow.  I  still 
think — what  I've  always  thought  and  built  upon — that 
if  he  once  sees  you " 

"  Dear  Dick !  But  it's  rather  late  for  that  now,  if 
he  has  heard  all  about  me,  and  has  made  a  picture  of 
me  in  his  mind." 

"  Well,  it's  such  a  preposterous  picture,  that  the 
reality  can't  help  striking  him.  We  won't  do  anything 
until  after  we  know  what  has  happened  at  the  meet. 
And  by  the  by,  there's  a  dinner  invitation  for  you  for 
to-morrow  evening."  He  told  her  about  Mrs.  Graham 
and  gave  her  her  note. 

"  That  is  very  kind  of  Mrs.  Graham,"  she  said.  "  I 
forgot  to  tell  you  that  I  knew  her  sister-in-law.  I'm 
afraid  we  shan't  have  much  opportunity  of  talking 
there,  Dick." 

So  they  talked  where  they  were  for  a  long  time,  until 


DICK    PAYS    A    SUNDAY    VlSlt      101 

the  dusk  fell  and  the  maid  came  in  with  the  lights  and 
the  tea,  and  Miss  Dexter  after  her,  and  the  result  of 
their  talk  was  that  they  felt  things  were  not  as  bad  as 
they  looked.  Dick's  father  would  relent  some  day,  and 
until  he  did  they  had  each  other. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    MEET    AT    APTHORPE    COMMON 

The  meet  on  Monday  was  at  Apthorpe  Common,  a 
distance  of  nine  miles  from  Kencote,  and  the  three 
men  appeared  at  breakfast  in  boots  and  breeches.  The 
Squire  always  did  so,  and  donned  his  red  coat,  with 
the  yellow  collar  of  the  South  Meadshire  Hunt,  when 
he  dressed  for  the  day.  Dick  came  to  breakfast  in  a 
tweed  jacket,  and  Humphrey  in  a  quilted  silk  smoking- 
coat,  and  both  had  linen  aprons  tied  round  their  waists 
to  preserve  their  well  pipe-clayed  breeches.  But  the 
Squire  belonged  to  an  older  generation,  having  been 
born  when  boots  and  breeches  still  lingered  as  the  nor- 
mal dress  of  country  gentlemen,  and  a  red  coat  was  as 
easy  in  the  wearing  as  any  other  coat.  He  looked  a 
fine  figure  of  a  man,  as  he  stood  up  at  the  end  of  the 
table  to  read  prayers  to  his  househoid,  and  ready  to  go 
with  the  best  if  he  got  a  horse  up  to  his  weight. 

At  a  quarter  to  ten  punctually  the  Squire  stood  at 
the  front  door  enveloped  in  a  heavy  ulster,  a  serviceable 
but  not  very  shiny  hat  on  his  head,  a  cigar  in  his  mouth, 
drawing  on  his  gloves,  and  looking  over  the  handsome 
pair  of  greys  in  his  phaeton.  Humphrey,  whose  hat 
lacked  nothing  in  polish,  stood  by  him  in  a  fur  coat. 
As  the  stable  clock  chimed  the  quarter,  the  Squire 
turned  to  the  butler,  who  stood  behind  him  with  a  rug, 
and  asked  where  Captain  Clinton  was. 

"  Dick  is  driving  himself,"  said  Humphrey.  "  He 
started  five  minutes  ago." 

The  Squire's  face  darkened,  but  he  climbed  up  to  his 
seat  and  took  the  reins.    Humphrey  got  up  by  his  side, 

103 


MEET  AT  APTHORPE  COMMON  103 

and  with  a  clatter  and  jingle  they  started,  wliile  the 
groom  swung  himself  into  his  seat  behind. 

If  Humphrey's  thoughts  had  not  been  taken  up  with 
his  own  affairs  he  might  have  felt  sorry  for  his  father. 
It  was  an  unfailing  custom  at  Kcncote  that  when  there 
were  only  three  to  go  to  a  meet  far  enough  off  to  neces- 
sitate a  drive,  they  should  go  in  the  phaeton.  TIig 
Squire  enjoyed  these  drives,  with  his  eldest  son  sitting 
by  his  side,  especially  on  such  a  morning  as  this,  soft 
and  mild,  and  holding  out  every  prospect  of  a  good 
day  at  the  sport  that  he  loved.  Now  he  drove  along  at 
his  usual  steady  pace  without  saying  a  word.  The 
brightness  had  gone  out  of  his  day's  pleasure  before 
it  had  begun,  and  he  would  just  as  soon  as  not  have 
turned  his  horses'  heads  and  gone  home  again.  There 
had  been  constraint  between  him  and  Dick  since  the  day 
before,  but  not  unfriendliness,  and  he  had  thought  that 
perhaps  they  might  have  come  as  closely  together  as 
usual  during  this  drive,  or  at  any  rate  have  buried  for 
a  time  the  thought  of  what  lay  between  them  in  the 
prospect  of  the  day's  sport.  But  Dick  had  gone  off 
alone  w^ithout  a  word,  and  his  heart  was  sore  within 
him.  Dick  might  have  spared  him  this,  he  thought. 
It  meant,  as  nothing  else  he  could  have  done  would 
have  meant,  that  their  pleasant,  almost  brotherly,  in- 
timacy was  to  cease.  Each  was  to  go  his  own  way, 
until  one  or  the  other  of  them  gave  in.  And  the  Squire 
knew,  although  he  may  not  have  said  as  much  to  him- 
self, that  Dick  could  support  this  sort  of  estrange- 
ment better  than  he  could.  Dick  had  his  friends,  scores 
of  them,  and  when  he  came  down  to  Kencote  he  was 
only  leaving  them  behind  him ;  while  to  him,  surrounded 
by  his  family,  but  very  much  alone  as  far  as  the  so- 
ciety of  men  of  his  own  interests  was  concerned,  Dick's 
visits  to  his  home  were  the  brightest  times  in  his  life, 
w^hen  everything  that  was  to  be  done  seemed  better  worth 
the  doing,  because  so  much  of  it  was  done  in  his  com- 


104  THE    ELDEST   SON 

pany,  and  the  pleasures  of  life  were  redoubled  in  value 
because  they  shared  them  and  could  talk  about  them, 
beforehand  and  afterwards. 

His  mind  too  was  turned  to  what  lay  before  him, 
which  he  had  thought  about  as  little  as  possible.  He 
was  goin^  to  where  he  would  see  this  woman  who  had 
enslaved  Dick.  She  was  to  be  there,  spoiling  for  him 
even  the  pursuit  he  liked  best.  And  Dick  no  doubt 
would  be  at  her  side,  piloting  her,  making  himself  con- 
spicuous by  his  attentions  to  the  whole  county,  provid- 
ing food  for  gossip,  perhaps  for  scandal.  If  this  crea- 
ture was  to  be  hanging  to  his  coat-tails,  his  son,  who 
had  followed  hounds  since  his  childhood,  and  whom  he 
had  always  taken  a  pride  in  seeing  well  mounted  and 
going  with  the  best  of  them,  would  be  pointed  at  as 
a  man  who  had  always  been  in  the  first  flight  until  he 
had  been  caught  by  a  woman,  but  was  now  of  no 
account  in  the  field.  The  Squire  had  seen  that  happen 
before,  and  it  covered  him  with  shame  and  anger  to 
think  that  it  would  happen  to  Dick. 

His  anger  was  directed  against  Virginia  alone.  He 
felt  none  against  his  son,  but  only  a  kind  of  thwarted 
tenderness,  which  would  have  led  him  to  do  anything, 
short  of  allowing  him  to  throw  himself  away  and  spoil 
his  Ufe,  to  bring  back  the  old  happy  state  of  feeling 
between  them.  It  crossed  his  mind  that  he  might  even 
be  obliged  to  let  him  have  his  way  in  this  matter.  He 
knew  that  he  would  be  sorely  tried  if  he  were  to  hold 
out,  and  that  he  might  not  have  the  power  to  do  so. 
He  thought  that  perhaps  he  would  do  as  Tom  had 
advised  and  see  this  woman  first,  see  if  there  were  any 
saving  grace  in  her  which  would  enable  him  to  give 
way,  and  comfort  himself  with  the  idea  that  things 
might  have  been  worse.  At  any  rate,  he  was  bound  to 
see  her  shortly,  and  without  making  any  decision  he 
could  dismiss  the  subject  from  his  mind  now  and  pre- 
pare to  enjoy  himself  as  much  as  possible  under  the 


MEET  AT  A PTHORPE  COMMON  105 

circumstances.  He  sat  up  strai^htcr,  drew  the  reins 
more  firmly  and  laid  his  whip  lightly  across  the  flanks 
of  the  greys.  "  Well,  Humphrey,"  he  said  as  the  horses 
quickened  their  pace,  "  I  think  we  shall  have  a  good 
day.  Scent  ought  to  lie  well,  and  we're  sure  to  find  a 
fox  in  that  spinney  of  Antill's.  I've  never  known  it 
draw  blank  yet." 

"  Yes,  we  ought  to  get  off  pretty  quick,"  said  Hum- 
phrey, also  rousing  himself.  "  I  say,  I'm  in  rather  a 
quandary." 

"  Well,  what  is  it.^  "  asked  the  Squire  rather  shortly. 
Humphrey's  quandaries  were  generally  of  a  financial 
nature,  and  he  had  no  wish  to  add  one  of  them  to  his 
present  troubles. 

"  Mrs.  Graham  has  asked  me  to  dine  to-night." 

"Well,  why  not.^^  You  can  have  something  to  take 
you   over." 

"  Oh  yes.  Dick  is  going.  It  is  to  meet  Lady  George 
Dubec." 

The  Squire's  face  darkened  instantly.  Here  he  was, 
plunged  straight  into  it  again,  when  he  wanted  to  free 
his  mind  for  the  time  being  of  Lady  George  Dubec  and 
anything  that  had  to  do  with  her. 

"  Mrs.  Graham  seems  to  have  lost  no  time,"  he  said. 
"  She  hadn't  called  on  her  on  Saturday.  I  suppose  she 
must  have  done  so  yesterday.  And  she  knows  perfectly 
well  that  I  don't  want  to  have  anything  to  do  with  the 
woman.     Are  Jim  and  Cicely  going .'^  " 

"  I  don't  know.     She  only  mentions  Dick." 

"  If  she  mixes  Cicely  up  with — with  this  lady,  I  shall 
be  very  much  annoyed.  Not  that  I  can  say  anything, 
I  suppose,  now  she's  married,  but  I  think  Mrs.  Graham 
might  respect  my  wishes  a  little  more.  Well,  you 
can  do  as  you  like.  I  suppose  the  modern  way  is  to 
disregard  the  wishes  of  the  head  of  the  house 
entirely." 

"  I  don't  want  to  disregard  your  wishes,"  said  Hum- 


106  THE   ELDEST   SON 

phrey.  "  I  think  as  long  as  one  remains  at  home  one 
ought  to  respect  them." 

The  Squire  was  mollified  at  this,  but  he  only  said 
rather  gruffly,  "  Well,  if  you  can  put  up  with  eating 
your  dinner  at  home  this  evening,  I'd  rather  you  should. 
Dick  has  taken  the  bit  between  his  teeth,  and  he  cer- 
tainly doesn't  think  that  my  wishes  should  be  respected. 
Apparently  nothing  that  I  can  say  will  influence  him. 
He  seems  to  me  to  be  heading  straight  for  the  nastiest 
kind  of  fall.  What  sort  of  a  woman  is  this,  Humphrey? 
You  said  you  knew  her,  didn't  you.?  " 

"  Oh,  I've  met  her,"  said  Humphrey.  "  She's  a  very 
pretty  woman.     Nobody  can  deny  that." 

"  People  who  have  made  a  success  on  the  stage  gen- 
erally are,"  said  the  Squire ;  "  at  least,  they  used  to 
be  in  my  time.     Is  she — well,  is  she  a  lady.'^  " 

"  Oh  Lord,  yes,"  said  Humphrey.  "  I'm  sorry  I 
let  out  that  about  her  having  been  on  the  stage.  You 
couldn't  possibly  guess  it  to  look  at  her.  Dick  tackled 
me  about  it  yesterday  and  said  that  nobody  knew  it. 
People  do  know  it,  but  there's  no  necessity  to  spread 
it  all  over  the  place." 

The  Squire  thought  for  a  moment.  Then  he  put  his 
question  point-blank.  "  Does  Dick  want  to  marry  this 
woman,  or  doesn't  he.'^  " 

"  If  you  had  asked  me  that  two  days  ago,"  replied 
Humphrey  glibly,  "  I  should  have  smiled  at  the  idea. 
Now,  I  believe  he  does." 

"  What  has  made  you  change  your  mind,  then  ?  " 

"  Well,  his  getting  her  down  here,  for  one  thing. 
Then,  as  I  told  you,  he  was  furious  with  me  for  let- 
ting out  what  I  did  about  her.  In  fact,  if  I  hadn't 
kept  my  head  we  should  have  had  a  devil  of  a  row 
about  it;  and  Dick  and  I  have  never  had  a  row  since 
we  were  kids." 

The  Squire  digested  this  information.  It  confirmed 
his  worst  fears  and  made  his  heart  the  heavier.    "  Can't 


MEET  AT  APTHORPE  COMMON  107 

you  help  to  stop  it?"  he  asked  shortly.  "You  and 
he  have  always  been  pretty  good  friends." 

"  I  can't  do  any  more  than  the  twins  could,"  replied 
Humphrey.  "  As  I  told  you,  we  nearly  had  a  row  about 
it  as  it  is.  If  I  tried  to  interfere  we  should  have  one 
without  a  doubt." 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  want  a  thing  like  that  to  hap- 
pen in  the  family.^  "  asked  the  Squire,  throwing  him  a 
side  glance. 

"  Of  course  I  don't  want  it,"  said  Humphrey.  "  Pve 
nothing  against  the  lady  as  she  is,  but  I  don't  want 
her  for  a  sister-in-law." 

"  I  should  think  not,"  said  the  Squire  emphatically. 
"  Well,  I  suppose  rm  the  only  person  who  can  stop  it, 
and  by  George !  I  will." 

Again  he  stroked  the  greys  with  his  whip,  and  their 
pace  quickened.  "  Look  here,  Humphrey,"  he  said, 
**  tell  me  how  on  earth  I  can  stop  it." 

Humphrey  smiled  into  his  thick  fur  collar.  It  was 
so  like  his  father,  to  issue  a  bold  statement  of  his 
intentions  and  then  immediately  to  ask  for  advice  as 
to  how  to  act.  But  he  had  not  been  accustomed  to  ask 
advice  of  Humphrey. 

"  Well,  it  doesn't  seem  to  be  a  very  difficult  matter," 
he  said. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  the  Squire  shortly. 
"  He's  not  paying  much  regard  to  my  wishes  now." 

"  I  dare  say  you  can't  stop  him  amusing  himself  with 
the  lady,"  said  Humphrey.  "  I  don't  know  why  you 
should  want  to.  If  you  make  it  awkward  for  him  he'll 
be  all  the  keener ;  if  you  give  him  his  head  he's  quite 
likely  to  come  to  his  senses.  But  it  will  be  a  different 
thing  if  it  comes  to  marrying." 

"Why.?" 

"  Well,  what's  he  to  marry  on — his  pay  as  a  captain 
in  the  Guards?  What  can  any  of  us  marry  on  if  you 
don't  see  us  through?" 


108  THE   ELDEST   SON 

The  Squire's  attitude  towards  his  eldest  son  was 
such  that,  through  all  his  anxiety  and  all  his  cogita- 
tions, he  had  never  yet  thought  of  this.  He  was  a 
rich  man,  and  he  gave  all  his  sons  good  allowances  and 
Dick  a  very  handsome  one.  He  did  this  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course,  and  never  looked  upon  it  otherwise  than 
as  rightly  due  from  him.  And,  equally  of  course,  he 
was  prepared  largely  to  increase  the  allowance  when 
Dick  should  marry.  But  it  was  quite  true  that  there 
was  nothing  to  prevent  him  from  stopping  it  alto- 
gether. If  the  worst  came  to  the  worst  he  could  ex- 
ercise the  power  of  the  purse,  but  it  would  be  extremely 
repugnant  to  him  to  do  it,  and  the  suggestion  struck 
him  Uke  a  temptation  to  act  unworthily.  "  What  on 
earth  put  that  into  your  head.?  "  he  asked. 

Humphrey  was  a  little  taken  aback  by  his  tone.  He 
was  annoyed  with  Dick,  as  he  had  never  been  annoyed 
with  him  since  their  childhood,  although  he  had  often 
been  jealous  of  his  seniority.  But  they  had  been  on 
such  good  terms  together  that  he  could  not  feel  quite 
comfortable  in  putting  a  spoke  in  his  wheel,  as  he  felt 
he  was  now  doing. 

"  It  doesn't  want  much  putting  there,"  he  said. 
"  The  idea  of  marriage  does  cross  one's  mind  occasion- 
ally, and  one  naturally  wonders  what  you  would  do  to 
make  it  possible.  It  wouldn't  be  possible  at  all  with- 
out you." 

"  Well,  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  have  to  take  a  step 
like  that,"  said  the  Squire  after  further  consideration. 
"  And  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  it." 

Now  they  came  to  the  foot  of  a  long  hill,  bounded 
on  one  side  by  a  deep  wood,  on  the  other  by  open  grass- 
land, which  fell  away  gradually,  and  some  distance 
off  swelled  again  into  a  long  undulating  rise,  dotted  with 
pieces  of  woodland,  arable  fields,  and  farms  here  and 
there,  and  ended  in  the  far  distance  in  a  range  of  hills 
lying  mistily  under  parallels  of  soft  grey  clouds,     It 


MEET  AT  APTHORPE  COMMON  109 

was  the  best  bit  of  country  the  South  Meadshire  could 
boast,  and  to  the  Squire  surveying  it  largely,  as  he 
walked  his  horses  up  the  hill,  every  square  mile  within 
reach  of  the  eye  spoke  of  some  remembered  episode  in 
the  long  course  of  years  during  which  he  had  enjoyed 
his  best-loved  sport. 

There — a  line  of  grey  at  the  bottom  of  the  green 
valley — was  the  brook  into  which  he  and  his  pony  had 
soused  head  over  ears  when  as  a  small  boy  he  had 
thought  to  follow  his  grandfather  over  a  place  which 
that  redoubtable  sportsman  himself  had  felt  some 
qualms  about  taking.  The  old  man,  warned  by  the 
shouts,  had  looked  round  and  trotted  back  to  the  brook, 
where  he  must  have  made  up  his  mind  that  neither  the 
small  boy  nor  the  small  pony  was  in  danger  of  drown- 
ing, for  he  had  said,  "  Well,  if  you're  such  a  fool  as 
to  get  in,  let's  hope  you're  not  too  much  of  a  fool  to 
get  out,"  and  had  turned  his  horse's  head  and  galloped 
off  without  further  ado.  There  was  the  covert  from 
which  a  cunning  old  dog  fox  had  been  hunted  three 
times  in  two  seasons,  and  had  given  them  three  sepa- 
rate runs,  which  were  talked  of  still  when  the  old 
stagers  of  the  South  Meadshire  got  together  at  one 
end  of  the  table  over  the  port,  although  it  was  nearly 
thirty  years  ago.  There  was  the  fence  over  which,  as 
a  hard-riding  subaltern,  at  the  end  of  a  season  during 
which  he  had  hunted  for  the  most  part  in  Leicester- 
shire, he  had  broken  the  back  of  the  best  mare  he  had 
ever  owned,  through  over-anxiety  to  show  his  neigh- 
bours what  riding  straight  to  hounds  really  meant, 
and  nearly  broken  his  own  neck  into  the  bargain.  There 
was  the  grass  field  in  which,  many  years  before,  al- 
though it  seemed  like  yesterday,  hounds  had  pulled 
their  fox  down,  and  Dick,  riding  his  first  pony,  had 
been  in  at  the  death,  had  won  his  first  brush,  and  had 
been  duly  blooded.  He  smiled  within  himself  and  re- 
membered how   his   little  boy   had  ridden  home  at  his 


no  THE   ELDEST   SON 

side  with  the  smears  on  his  face  and  shown  himself 
proudly  to  his  mother,  and  how,  forgetting  his  new- 
found manhood,  he  had  howled  when  it  was  proposed 
to  wash  them  off. 

There  were  other  exploits  of  Dick's  and  of  his  other 
sons',  who  had  all  taken  to  the  sport  as  he  would  have 
had  sons  of  his  take  to  it,  which  this  wide  stretch  of 
country  recalled.  In  fact,  Dick  and  he,  driving  up  this 
long  hill  to  a  meet  at  Apthorpe,  or  beyond  it,  had  been 
wont  to  recall  episodes  which  they  both  remembered, 
pointing  out  this  and  that  spot,  near  or  far.  He  liked 
best  to  recall  the  doings  of  his  boys,  although  his  own 
and  those  of  his  hard-bitten,  redoubtable  old  grand- 
father had  not  been  forgotten  in  the  long  tale.  It  was 
as  if  a  sudden  chill  had  struck  him  when  the  thought 
came  to  him,  that  if  he  and  Dick  were  to  be  kept  apart 
by  what  had  come  between  them,  they  would  perhaps 
never  drive  together  again  up  the  Apthorpe  Hill.  The 
hoarse  note  of  a  motor-horn  behind  him,  and  the  neces- 
sity of  drawing  to  the  side  of  the  road  as  the  machine 
swirled  by,  enabled  him  to  relieve  his  feelings  by  an 
expression  of  abhorrence  stronger  than  he  usually  al- 
lowed himself,  although  his  ordinary  language  on  the 
use  of  motor-cars  in  connection  with  hunting  did  not 
lack  vigour.  And  this  particular  motor-car  contained 
the  Master  of  the  South  Meadshire  himself,  who  waved 
to  him  as  he  passed,  and  received  no  very  warm  greet- 
ing in  return.  The  Squire  had  had  a  grudge  against 
Mr.  Warner  during  the  greater  part  of  his  life.  His 
grandfather  had  kept  the  hounds  for  forty  years, 
hunted  them  himself,  and  spent  money  lavishly  on  the 
upkeep  of  kennels  and  general  equipment.  When  he 
had  died  the  Squire  had  been  too  young  to  follow  him, 
and  Mr.  Warner,  who  had  made  his  money  in  trade  as 
the  Squire  averred,  although  he  had  actually  inherited 
it,  and  was  but  recently  come  into  the  county,  had 
taken  them.     He  was  now  an  old  man  getting  on  for 


MEET  AT  APTHORPE  COMMON  111 

eighty,  and  had  kept  them  ever  since,  hunting  with  them 
as  regularly  and  riding  as  straight  as  he  had  ever  done 
— a  wonderful  old  man,  already  beginning,  in  his  life- 
time, to  pass  into  a  proverb,  as  the  Squire's  grand- 
father. Colonel  Thomas  CHnton,  had  done.  But  the 
Squire  had  never  had  a  good  word  for  him.  Of  all 
the  positions  in  life  which  he  might  have  filled,  he  felt 
it  hard  that  the  Mastership  of  the  South  Meadshire 
should  have  been  kept  out  of  his  hands.  And  that  was 
his  grudge  against  Mr.  Warner,  carefully  nourished 
by  that  gentleman's  late  acceptance  of  mechanical  traf- 
fic, and  sundry  other  causes  which  need  not  be  enquired 
into. 

Other  motor-cars  passed  them  before  they  got  to  the 
top  of  the  hill,  and  the  Squire  had  a  word  or  two  of 
condemnation  to  spare  for  each,  as  they  forced  him 
to  draw  aside  and  control  his  horses,  which  shared  his 
dislike  of  the  new-fangled  things. 

At  the  top  of  the  rise  the  wood  curved  away  to  the 
right,  and  there  was  nothing  before  them  but  the  wide 
gorse-speckled  common,  with  the  broad  highroad  run- 
ning through  it.  They  drove  on  for  a  mile  and  came 
to  a  high-lying  inn  by  the  roadside,  appropriately 
named  the  "  Fox  and  Hounds,"  with  a  sign-post  and 
a  water-trough  in  front  of  it,  and  a  broad  piece  of 
grass,  which  was  now  the  centre  of  the  best  of  all  Eng- 
lish country  sights  in  the  winter.  The  hounds  were 
grouped  about  their  huntsman,  George  Winch,  a  grey- 
whiskered,  weather-tanned  man  sitting  upright  on  his 
tall  bay  horse,  the  two  of  them  quiet  and  unmoved, 
ready  for  what  was  to  come,  but  not  unduly  excited 
over  it,  and  his  three  young  Whips,  two  of  them  his 
sons  and  the  other  his  nephew.  The  Master  had  al- 
ready hoisted  himself  on  to  his  horse  and  sat  as  straight 
as  his  huntsman,  although  he  was  twenty  years  his 
senior.  And  all  round  were  the  faithful  followers  of 
the  South  Meadshire,  some  of  whom  had  ridden  with 


112  THE    ELDEST   SON 

those  hounds  for  as  long  as,  or  longer  than,  the  Squire 
himself,  some  of  whom  had  only  begun  that  season. 
The  men  were  mostly  in  pink,  with  the  yellow  collar, 
and  dressed  for  work  and  not  for  show,  their  breeches 
spotless,  their  boots  well  polished  and  their  tops  of  the 
right  mellow  shade,  but  their  coats  not  of  the  newest, 
and  their  hats  lacking  the  mirror-like  shine  which  was 
imparted  to  those  of  the  young  bloods  such  as  Hum- 
phrey. There  was  a  sprinkling  of  ladies,  amongst 
whom  was  Mrs.  Graham,  in  a  workmanlike  habit  that 
had  seen  better  days,  but  many  more  of  them  had  come 
on  wheels  than  on  horseback.  There  were  boys  on 
ponies,  their  round  hats  jammed  on  to  their  heads,  their 
round  legs  in  wrinkled  cloth  gaiters,  and  the  Master's 
two  little  granddaughters  riding  astride.  On  the  out- 
skirts of  the  loosely  knit  crowd  was  a  good  sprinkling 
of  farmers,  solid  elderly  men  in  hard  felt  hats,  drab 
coats,  corduroys  and  brown  gaiters,  and  slim,  active 
young  men  in  smarter  editions  of  the  same  attire,  but 
not  always  so  well  mounted. 

The  Squire  drove  up  to  the  front  of  the  inn,  where 
his  horse  and  Humphrey's  were  being  walked  up  and 
down  by  their  grooms,  and  climbed  down  from  his  seat 
with  a  side-look  that  was  half  a  frown  at  the  crowd. 
Amongst  the  women  on  horseback  he  saw  none  that  he 
did  not  know,  and  hoped  that  the  dreaded  lady  had 
not  come;  but  immediately  he  had  satisfied  himself  that 
she  was  not  riding  he  caught  sight  of  Dick,  already 
mounted,  standing  by  a  smart  little  pony-cart  which 
contained  two  women,  and  his  frown  deepened.  When 
he  was  on  his  horse  and  had  seen  that  his  flask  and 
sandwich-case  were  in  place,  he  had  another  moment 
of  indecision.  Through  all  his  discomfort  and  annoy- 
ance, his  heart  yearned  towards  his  son,  and  he  was 
alternately  and  from  minute  to  minute  swayed  by  oppo- 
site impulses,  to  hold  out  firmly  for  Dick's  sake  or  to 
give  way  for  his  own.     As  he  walked  his  horse  on  to 


MEET  AT  APTHORPE  COMMON  113 

the  green  it  was  in  his  mind  to  cross  over  to  where 
Dick  was  standing  by  the  pony-cart  and,  with  what 
graciousness  he  could,  end  it  all. 

But  he  was  stopped  by  one  of  his  old  friends,  who 
had  something  quite  unnecessary  to  say  about  the 
weather  and  the  prospect  of  the  day's  sport,  and  be- 
fore he  could  disengage  himself  he  saw  Dick  leave  the 
pony-carriage  and  the  two  ladies,  and  come  towards 
him.  He  did  not  pay  much  attention  to  his  friend,  but 
sat  on  his  horse  facing  his  son.  He  saw  Dirk  also 
stopped,  and  waited  impatiently,  hoping  that  he  was 
coming  to  speak  to  him.  Then  he  saw  a  very  smartly 
attired  young  man  trot  up  to  the  pony-carriage,  arms 
and  legs  akimbo,  to  be  greeted,  as  it  seemed  to  him, 
with  complete  cordiality  by  the  lady  who  held  the  reins, 
but  not  so  effusively  by  the  lady  b}^  her  side.  This 
young  man  was  his  pet  abomination,  the  vacuous, 
actress-hunting,  spendthrift  son  of  a  rich  father,  al- 
ready notorious  for  his  "  goings-on,"  and  likely  to  be 
more  so  if  he  continued  as  he  had  begun.  He  heard 
his  loud  foolish  laugh  over  something  he  had  said  to 
the  lady,  or  something  she  had  said  to  him,  and  saw, 
although  he  could  not  hear,  her  laugh  in  reply.  Then 
he  saw  him  take  out  his  cigarette-case  and  offer  it  to 
her,  and  at  that  he  wrenched  round  his  horse's  head 
and  exclaimed,  apparently  in  answer  to  a  question  which 
he  had  not  heard  addressed  to  him,  much  to  his  friend's 
surprise,  "  No,  I'm  damned  if  I  do." 

He  had  seen  enough.  If  that  vicious  young  fool  was 
the  sort  of  person  the  woman  was  on  terms  of  intimacy 
with,  then  she  was  just  what  he  had  pictured,  and  there 
was  no  saving  grace  in  her.  A  cigarette-smoking, 
loose-tongued,  kind-to-everj-body  creature  of  the  stage ! 
He  would  rather  be  at  enmity  with  his  son  all  his  days, 
he  would  rather  see  him  dead,  than  married  to  such  a 
woman. 

He  walked  his  horse,  not  knowing  where  he  was  going 


114  THE    ELDEST    SON 

to,  except  that  he  wanted  to  get  as  far  as  possible  away 
from  Lady  George  Dubec,  to  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd 
and  beyond  them,  his  mind  in  a  ferment  of  disgust.  He 
heard  the  creak  of  saddlery  and  the  thud  of  a  horse's 
hoofs  on  the  hard  turf  behind  him.  Dick  trotted  up 
to  him,  and  said,  as  he  reined  up  his  horse,  "  I  wish 
you'd  let  me  introduce  you  to  Lady  George."  He 
spoke  as  if  there  had  been  no  controversy  between  them 
on  the  subject.  He  knew  his  father,  and  he  was  giving 
him  his  chance.  Two  minutes  earlier  and  the  Squire 
would  have  taken  it.  Now  he  turned  round  sharply, 
his  face  red.  "  I  have  no  wish  to  be  introduced  to  Lady 
George,  now  or  at  any  time,"  he  said. 

' "  Oh,  all  right !  "  said  Dick  coldly,  and  turning  his 
back  on  him,  trotted  off  again. 


CHAPTER  XI 

DICK   LEAVES   KEXCOTE  AND  MAKES   A   DISCOVERY 

There  was  not  much  pleasure  for  the  Squire  that  day, 
although  they  found  a  fox  without  delay,  and  with 
one  check  hunted  him  across  the  best  of  the  South 
Meadshire  country  and  killed  him  in  the  open  after 
a  fast  run  of  forty  minutes.  The  hounds  got  him  out 
of  the  spinney  where  he  was  known  to  reside,  in  no 
time,  but  he  immediately  took  refuge  in  another  and  a 
larger  one  half  a  mile  or  so  off.  The  hunt  straggled 
after  him,  those  who  had  been  on  the  wrong  side  of 
the  covert  when  the  music  of  the  hounds  first  announced 
their  prompt  discovery  riding  hard  to  make  up  for 
lost  time,  the  carts  and  carriages  streaming  along  the 
road.  Then  there  was  a  pause  while  the  hounds  worked 
to  and  fro  through  the  wood,  and  the  groups  formed 
again  and  waited  for  what  should  happen.  The  Squire, 
more  by  instinct  than  design,  for  his  thoughts  were  on 
far  other  matters,  edged  down  the  skirts  of  the  wood 
to  where  he  could  see  the  fox  break  cover  if  he  behaved 
as  his  experience  told  him  most  foxes  would  behave  in 
like  circumstances,  and  keeping  well  under  cover  he 
soon  saw  the  cunning  nose  poking  out  of  the  brush- 
wood and  the  furtive  red  form  steal  out  to  cross  the 
road  and  make  a  bold  bid  for  freedom.  Just  at  that 
moment,  as  he  was  preparing  to  give  the  view-hulloa 
when  my  gentleman  should  have  taken  irrevocably  to 
the  open,  a  cart  drove  smartly  round  the  opposite  cor- 
ner of  the  wood  and  pulled  up,  but  not  before  the  fox 
had  seen  it  and  slunk  cautiously  back  into  shelter.  The 
Squire  smothered  a  strong  exclamation  of  disgust,  but 
gave  it  vent  and  added  something  to  it  when  he  recog- 

115 


116  THE   ELDEST    SON 

nised  the  cart  and  its  driver.  If  Lady  George  Dubec 
had  come  into  the  South  Meadshire  country  to  head 
the  South  Meadshire  foxes,  as  well  as  to  annoy  him 
grossly  in  other  waj^s,  then  good-bye  to  everything. 
But  she  should  be  told  what  she  had  done.  With  rage 
in  his  heart  and  a  black  scowl  on  his  face  he  cantered 
along  the  strip  of  grass  by  the  roadside,  and  lifting 
his  hat  and  looking  the  offending  lady  straight  in  the 
face,  said  in  an  angry  voice,  *'  Would  you  mind  keeping 
behind  the  hounds,  madam?  You  have  just  turned  the 
fox  back  into  covert."  Then  he  turned  his  back  and 
rode  off,  leaving  Virginia  and  Miss  Dexter  looking  at 
each  other  with  horrified  faces. 

However,  Reynard's  caution  did  not  save  him  long. 
He  was  bustled  out  of  shelter  again  w^ithin  ten  min- 
utes, and  realising  that  his  only  chance  of  escape  was 
to  run  for  it,  run  he  did  and  gave  the  hounds  all  they 
knew  to  catch  him.  The  Squire  was  away  with  the  first, 
and,  riding  hard  and  straight,  did  for  what  would  have 
been  otherwise  a  blissful  forty  minutes  succeed  in  losing 
the  sharp  sense  of  his  unhappiness,  although  black  care 
was  perched  all  the  time  behind  him,  and  when  the  fox 
had  been  killed,  seized  on  him  with  claws  so  sharp  that 
he  had  no  heart  left  for  anything  further,  and  leaving 
the  hounds  to  draw  a  gorsy  common  for  another  fox 
turned  his  horse's  head  round  and  rode  off  home. 

Humphrey,  not  far  away  at  the  start,  had  been  in 
at  the  finish,  with  half  a  dozen  more,  but  he  had  seen 
nothing  of  Dick,  and  no  one  who  had  set  out  to  follow 
on  wheels  had  been  anywhere  within  sight  for  the  last 
half-hour.  The  Squire  felt  a  grim  satisfaction  in  the 
thought  of  Lady  George  Dubec  left  hopelessly  out  of 
it,  but  he  also  thought  of  Dick  missing  the  best  run, 
so  far,  of  the  season  to  keep  behind  with  her,  and  his 
satisfaction  turned  into  sad  disgust.  His  long  ride 
home  was  the  most  miserable  he  had  ever  taken,  and 
he  wished  before  it  was   ended  that  he  had  seen   out 


DICK   LEAVES   KENCOTE  IIT 

the  day,  on  the  chance  of  another  burst  of  excitement 
which  for  the  time  would  have  eased  his  pain. 

He  reached  Kencote  about  three  o'clock,  and  ex- 
pected to  find  the  house  empty,  for  he  knew  that  Mrs. 
Clinton  had  been  going  to  lunch  at  Mountfield  and  he 
did  not  expect  her  to  be  back  yet.  But  she  met  him 
in  the  hall  and  said,  "  I  thought  you  might  be  home 
early,  Edward,  so  I  did  not  go  out." 

Now  the  Squire  was  never  home  early.  He  always 
saw  out  the  day's  sport,  however  bad  it  might  be,  and 
the  number  of  times  he  had  returned  from  hunting 
before  dark  during  the  last  thirty  years  might  have 
been  counted  on  his  ten  fingers.  He  looked  at  his 
wife  apprehensively  and  followed  her  into  the  morning- 
room,  where  she  turned  to  him. 

"  Dick  has  gone,"  she  said. 

He  stared  at  her,  not  understanding. 

"  He  came  back  about  twelve,"  she  went  on,  ''  and 
changed  his  clothes.  His  servant  was  out,  but  he  left 
word  for  him  to  pack  and  follow  him  to  Blaythom. 
He  wrote  you  a  letter  before  he  went." 

"  Where  is  it.^  "  asked  the  Squire.  *'  Didn't  you  see 
him  before  he  went  ?  Didn't  you  speak  to  him  ?  "  He 
went  out  of  the  room  and  into  his  own,  and  Mrs.  Clin- 
ton followed  him. 

"  I  did  see  him,"  she  said,  as  the  Squire  went  to  his 
writing-table  where  an  envelope  was  lying  on  the  silver- 
mounted  blotting-pad.  "  He  said  that  you  had  made 
it  impossible  for  him  to  remain  at  home,  and  he  bade 
me  good-bye,  but  he  did  not  tell  me  anything  more." 

But  the  Squire  was  not  listening  to  her.  He  turned 
the  page  of  the  letter  and  then  put  it  into  her  hand. 
"  Read  that,"  he  said. 

"Dear  Father"   [it  ran], 

"  I  had  hoped  at  least  that  you  would  have  con- 
sented to  meet  the  woman  I  am  going  to  marry.     If 


118  THE    ELDEST    SON 

you  had  you  would  have  seen  how  unlike  she  Is  to  your 
ideas  of  her  and  that  I  am  doing  myself  honour  by  my 
choice.  You  have  made  the  situation  impossible  now, 
and  I  cannot  return  to  Kencote  until  you  consent  to 
receive  my  affianced  wife  with  the  respect  due  to  her. 

"  Your  affectionate  son, 

"  Richard  Clinton." 

The  Squire's  face  was  purple,  but  he  controlled  the 
violent  expression  of  his  anger.  "  His  affianced  wife !  " 
he  exclaimed  scornfully.  "  So  now  we  have  it  all,  and 
I  was  right  from  the  beginning.  Well,  if  he  waits  till 
I  receive  her  he  may  wait  till  I'm  in  my  coffin.  I  told 
him  this  morning  I  would  not  recognise  her,  now  or 
at  any  time,  and  I'll  stick  to  my  word.  He  has  chosen 
to  fight  me,  and  he  will  find  that  I'm  ready."  He  spoke 
bitterly,  but  firmly,  and  as  if  he  meant  everything  that 
he  said. 

Mrs.  Clinton  laid  the  letter  on  the  table.  Her  face 
was  serious,  and  paler  than  its  wont.  "  Have  you  seen 
her,  Edward .f^  "  she  asked.     "  Is  she  so  impossible.'*  " 

"  Seen  her  !  Impossible  !  "  echoed  the  Squire,  with 
a  return  to  the  unbridled  violence  he  usually  showed 
when  he  was  disturbed.  "  Yes,  I've  seen  her,  and  she's 
as  impossible  as  a  wife  for  the  heir  of  Kencote  as  any 
woman  on  the  face  of  the  earth — a  painted  hussy,  hand 
in  glove  with  the  worst  sort  of  vicious  loafer,  puffing 
cigarettes  in  the  face  of  a  whole  crowd  of  respectable 
people,  shamelessly  breaking  up  sport — oh,  I've  seen 
her,  and  seen  enough  of  her.  To  my  dying  day  I'll 
never  willingly  see  her  again,  and  if  that  means  break- 
ing with  Dick  I'll  break  with  him  till  he  comes  to  his 
senses.  I  mean  it.  If  she  is  going  to  stay  here  to  hunt 
with  the  South  Meadshire,  then  I'll  go  and  hunt  some- 
where else  until  she's  gone ;  or  I  won't  hunt  at  all.  Yes, 
she's  impossible.  You've  spoken  the  right  word.  I 
shouldn't  be  doing  my  duty  if  I  left  any  stone  unturned 


DICK   LEAVES   KENCOTE  119 

to  put  an  end  to  Dick's  unaccountable  folly.  He'll 
thank  me  for  it  some  day,  and  I'll  put  up  with  all  and 
every  unhappiness  until  that  day  comes." 

He  had  calmed  down  during  the  course  of  his  speech, 
as  he  often  did,  beginning  on  a  note  of  unreasonable 
violence  and  ending  on  one  completely  different.  But 
he  did  not  usually  end  on  a  note  of  strong  determina- 
tion, as  now,  and  Mrs.  Clinton  looked  at  him  as  if  she 
hardly  recognised  him,  with  lines  of  perplexity  and 
trouble  in  her  smooth,  comely  face.  She  did  not  ask 
him  what  he  was  going  to  do,  such  questions  being  apt 
to  provoke  him  to  impatient  anger  and  seldom  bring- 
ing a  direct  reply.     She  said  hesitatingly,  "  If  he  says 

definitely  that  he  is  going  to  marry  her "  and  left 

him  to  supply  the  end  of  her  sentence. 

"  I  shall  not  let  him  marry  her,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  He  can't  marry  on  his  pay,  and  I  shall  stop  his  allow- 
ance from  to-day." 

This  statement,  revolutionary  of  all  fixed  notions 
that  had  their  rise  in  Kencote,  affected  Mrs.  Clinton 
as  nothing  before  in  her  married  life  had  affected  her. 
It  showed  her  her  husband  as  she  had  never  known  him, 
bent  on  a  course  of  action,  not  ready  to  take  advice 
about  it,  but  prepared  to  turn  his  back  on  the  most 
cherished  principles  of  his  life  in  order  to  carry  it  out. 
She  had  nothing  to  say.  She  could  only  look  down  and 
wonder  apprehensively  what  her  world  was  coming  to. 

"  I  don't  think  I  should  have  thought  of  doing  such 
a  thing,"  the  Squire  admitted.  "  It  gives  me  more  pain 
to  take  a  course  like  that  than  anything  else  could 
have  done.  It  was  Humphrey  who  suggested  it.  He 
said,  quite  truly,  that  none  of  them  could  marry  unless 
I  saw  them  through.  And  I  won't  see  Dick  through 
this.  I'll  do  anything  to  stop  it,  however  much  I  suffer 
by  what  I  have  to  do.  Don't  you  think  I'm  right, 
Nina?" 

This  was  more  what  Mrs.   Clinton  was  accustomed 


IW  THE    ELDEST   SON 

to.  She  could  not  say  that  she  thought  he  was  right, 
nor  that  he  was  wrong.  She  could  only  say,  as  she 
did,  that  such  a  proceeding  would  be  distressing  to 
him. 

"  I  know  that,"  said  the  Squire,  with  a  new  sim- 
plicity. "  I'm  not  thinking  of  myself.  I'm  thinking 
of  Dick.  I  love  the  boy,  Nina.  He's  got  himself  into 
trouble  and  I've  got  to  help  him  out  of  it." 

"Do  you  think  this  is  the  best  way?"  was  all  that 
she  could  find  to  say. 

"  It's  the  only  way.  If  there  were  any  other  I  would 
take  it.  If  it  doesn't  bring  him  to  his  senses  at  once, 
I  shall  keep  the  money  for  him  till  it  does.  God  knows 
I  don't  want  to  touch  it." 

"  He  will  have  to  give  up  the  Guards,"  said  Mrs. 
Clinton. 

The  Squire  had  not  thought  of  this,  and  he  digested 
the  statement.  "  He's  not  an  absolute  fool,"  he  said, 
"  although  he  has  lost  his  head  over  this.  As  far  as 
the  service  goes,  I  shouldn't  mind  if  he  did  give  it 
up.  I  never  meant  him  to  go  on  soldiering  so  long. 
Still,  if  he  does  give  it  up,  what's  he  to  do,  poor  fel- 
low, till  he  comes  round.''  He  wouldn't  have  a  penny. 
I  shall  tell  him  that  I  will  continue  his  allowance  as 
long  jis  hj  remains  unmarried."  He  brightened  up  as 
this  idea  struck  him.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  "  that  will  be 
the  best  way,  and  just  as  effective.  I  couldn't  bear 
to  think  of  Dick  hard  up.     I'll  write  ;iow." 

He  sat  down  to  his  table,  muddy  boots,  spurs,  and 
all,  and  Mrs.  Clinton  left  him,  a  little  relieved  in  her 
mind  that  he  saw  a  gleam  of  light,  but  otherwise  so- 
licitous for  his  sake  and  unhappy  on  her  own.  She  loved 
her  firstborn  too,  although  it  was  very  long  since  she 
had  been  able  to  show  it.  She  would  have  liked  to  help 
him  now,  but  he  had  not  asked  for  her  help,  had  told 
her  nothing,  and  had  left  her  with  scarcely  more  than 
a  formal  word  of  farewell. 


DICK   LEAVES   KENCOTE  121 

The  Squire,  left  to  himself,  wrote  quickly,  and  sealed 
up  his  letter  after  he  had  read  it  over  once,  as  if  first 
thoughts  were  best,  and  he  was  uncertain  to  what 
second  would  lead  him. 

"  My  dear  Dick  "  [his  note  ran], 

"  I  can  only  repeat  that  nothing  will  induce  me  to 
give  my  consent  to  the  marriage  you  propose.  If  you 
marry  in  a  way  to  please  me  I  shall  provide  for  you 
handsomely,  as  I  have  always  intended  to  do,  but  if 
you  persist  in  the  course  you  have  begun  on  I  shall  with- 
draw your  allowance  entirely.  It  w^ill  be  paid  to  you 
for  the  present,  but  only  as  long  as  you  remain  unmar- 
ried. I  am  very  sorry  to  have  to  take  this  course,  but 
you  leave  me  nothing  else  to  do. 

"  Your  affectionate  father, 

"  Edward  Clinton." 

When  he  had  closed  and  directed  the  envelope  an 
unpleasant  thought  struck  him,  and  he  leant  back  in  his 
chair  and  looked  out  of  the  window  while  he  consid- 
ered it.  "  I  suppose  she  must  have  some  money,"  he 
said  to  himself;  and  then  after  a  time,  "  But  Dick  would 
never  do  that." 

The  note  was  taken  over  to  Blaythorn,  as  all  notes 
were  that  were  despatched  from  Kencote,  by  a  groom 
on  horseback.  The  Squire  was  impatient  of  the  work- 
ings of  the  penny  post,  except  for  distances  impossi- 
ble for  a  horse,  and  he  would  not  ask  if  Dick's  soldier- 
servant  had  yet  left  the  house  with  his  master's  belong- 
ings. "  Tell  one  of  the  grooms  to  take  that  over," 
were  his  curt  instructions,  and  so  well  was  the  letter 
of  his  orders  always  obeyed  that  a  groom  rode  off  with 
it  within  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  although  another  one 
was  already  harnessing  a  horse  to  the  cart  that  was 
to  take  Dick's  servant  to  Blaythorn  as  soon  as  he  should 
be  ready.     But  having  got  safely   outside  the  park 


122  THE    ELDEST    SON 

gates  he  dawdled  till  his  fellow  caught  him  up,  and  the 
three  of  them  then  continued  the  journey  together  and 
discussed  the  situation. 

Dick's  servant  was  loyal  to  his  master,  but  it  was 
not  in  human  nature  that  he  should  have  refrained  from 
speculating  upon  what  was  doing,  and  between  them 
they  managed  to  attain  to  a  fairly  clear  idea  of  what 
that  was,  their  unanimous  conclusion  being  that  if  the 
Captain  had  made  up  his  mind  to  marry  the  lady  the 
Squire  might  take  what  steps  he  liked,  but  he  would 
not  stop  him.  In  this  way  began  the  rumours  that 
presently  spread  all  over  the  county  and  thence  all 
over  England,  or  to  such  of  its  inhabitants  as  are  in- 
terested in  the  affairs  of  its  Captain  Clintons  and  Lady 
Georges. 

Dick  and  Virginia  were  alone  together  when  the  note 
was  brought  in,  the  mounted  groom  having  ridden  on 
when  he  got  within  a  mile  of  his  destination.  "  That 
means  war,"  said  Dick,  laconically,  when  he  had  read 
it ;  "  but  I  didn't  think  he  would  use  those  tactics  quite 
so  soon.  I  wonder  who  put  him  up  to  it."  He  thought 
for  a  moment.  "  Humphrey  wouldn't  have  done  it,  I 
suppose,"   he   said  reflectively. 

Virginia's  eyes  were  serious  as  she  looked  up  from 
the  note  written  in  the  Squire's  big,  rather  sprawling 
hand  on  the  thick  white  paper.  "  I  wonder  why  he 
hates  me  so,"  she  said  a  little  plaintively.  "  Is  it  be- 
cause I  headed  the  fox,  Dick.?  " 

Dick  took  her  chin  between  his  thumb  and  finger  and 
his  face  grew  tender  as  he  looked  into  her  eyes.  "  You 
were  a  very  foolish  girl  to  do  that,  Virginia,"  he  said. 
"  I  should  have  thought  you  would  have  known  better." 

"  I  didn't  know  there  was  such  a  sharp  turn,"  she 
said.  "  I  pulled  up  the  moment  I  got  round  the 
corner." 

"  Oh,  well !  never  mind  about  that,"  said  Dick.  "  It 
was  unfortunate,  but  it  wouldn't  have  made  him  want 


DICK   LEAVES    KENCOTE  123 

to  disinherit  me.  He  can't  disinherit  me,  you  know. 
It's  just  like  him  to  go  blundering  into  a  course  like 
this,  which  he  hasn't  got  the  firmness  to  keep  up." 

"  That  letter  doesn't  look  as  if  he  lacked  firmness," 
Virginia  said.     "  Dick  dear,  what  shall  you  do.''  " 

Dick  did  not  answer  this  question  directly.  He  had 
his  father's  habit  of  following  out  his  own  train  of 
thought  and  ignoring,  or  rather  not  noticing,  interrup- 
tion. "  He  must  know  perfectly  well,"  he  said,  "  that 
I  can  raise  money  quite  easily  on  my  prospects.  I 
dare  say  he  hasn't  thought  of  that,  though.  He  never 
does  think  a  thing  thoroughly  out.  He  wouldn't  be 
happy  if  I  threatened  to  do  it." 

"  Oh,  Dick,  Dick !  "  exclaimed  Virginia,  "  why  do 
you  want  to  worry  about  money .?  I  have  plenty  for 
both  of  us." 

"  My  dear,  I've  told  you  that's  impossible,"  said 
Dick  a  little  impatiently.  "  Don't  keep  harping  on 
it." 

It  gave  her  a  thrill  of  delight  to  be  spoken  to  in 
that  way — by  him.  She  had  been  used  to  being  ordered 
to  do  something  or  not  to  do  something  by  a  man, 
but  not  by  the  man  she  loved.  She  kept  obedient  si- 
lence, but  gave  Dick's  arm  a  little  squeeze. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  do  it,  though,"  he  went  on.  "  I 
should  hate  it  as  much  as  he  w^ould.  Let's  sit  down, 
Virginia.     I'll  tell  you  what  I'm  going  to  do." 

They  sat  down  on  the  sofa,  and  Dick  took  a  ciga- 
rette out  of  his  case.  Virginia  held  it  open.  "  Couldn't 
I  have  just  one?  "  she  pleaded. 

"  No,"  said  Dick,  taking  it  from  her.  "  You  prom- 
ised you  would  give  it  up  when  you  came  down  here." 

"  So  I  have,"  she  said.   "  I  think  you  are  very  cruel." 

Dick  put  the  case  back  into  his  pocket.  "  Of  course 
I'm  not  unprepared  for  this,"  he  said,  "  though  I  hoped 
it  wouldn't  come  to  it.  I  shall  have  to  give  up  the  serv- 
ice and  get  some  work." 


124  THE    ELDEST   SON 

"  Oh,  Dick !  "  she  said.  "  You  don't  want  to  give  up 
the  service." 

"  No,  I  don't  want  to.  I  should  have  got  my  ma- 
jority next  year,  and  I  wanted  to  go  on  till  I  com- 
manded the  regiment,  though  I  never  told  him  so.  But 
it's  got  to  be  done,  and  it's  no  use  grizzling  about  it." 

"  And  you're  doing  this  for  me !  "  she  said  softly. 

"  I  am  doing  a  great  deal  more  than  that  for  you," 
he  said.     "  I'm  giving  up  Kencote,  at  least  for  a  time." 

"Do  you  think  I'm  worth  it?  "  she  asked  drily. 

He  looked  down  at  her,  and  then  took  her  hand  in  his. 
"  You  must  get  used  to  my  little  ways,"  he  said,  with 
a  kind  smile.  "  I  must  be  able  to  say  to  you  what  is 
in  my  mind." 

"  Oh,  I  know,"  she  said  repentantly.  "  It  was  horrid 
of  me.  But  I  do  know  what  you're  giving  up,  and  I 
love  you  for  it.  I  hope  it  won't  be  for  long — Kencote, 
I  mean.  I  suppose  if  you  give  up  the  army  you  won't 
be  able  to  go  back  to  it.  I  hate  to  think  of  that  be- 
cause it's  your  career.  And  what  else  can  you  work 
at,  dear  Dick.^^     Fancy  you  in  an  office!" 

"  The  idea  of  me  in  an  office  needn't  disturb  you," 
said  Dick.  "  I  don't  intend  to  go  into  an  office.  There 
are  two  things  I  know  about.  One  is  soldiering,  the 
other  is  estate  management.  If  I'm  to  be  prevented 
from  managing  the  estate  that's  going  to  be  my  own 
some  day,  then  I'll  manage  somebody  else's  in  the  mean- 
time. There  are  lots  of  landowners  who  would  be  only 
too  glad  to  give  me  a  job." 

"  Tell  me  what  it  means  exactly,  Dick.  Have  you 
got  to  be  a  sort  of  steward  to  some  rich  person.'^  I 
don't  think  I  should  like  that." 

He  laughed  and  patted  her  hand.  "  You  must  get 
rid  of  some  of  your  American  ideas,"  he  said.  "  The 
'  rich  person  '  wouldn't  want  to  treat  me  as  a  servant. 
And  it  isn't  necessary  that  he  should  be  very  rich.  I 
might  not  be  able  to  get  a  big  agency  all  at  once.     I 


DICK   LEAVES   KENCOTE  1^5 

don't  know  that  I  should  want  to,  as  long  as  there  was 
enough  work  to  do.  As  far  as  your  money  goes,  Vir- 
ginia, I  shouldn't  have  any  feeling  about  using  it  to 
help  run  the  show.  What  I  won't  do  is  to  live  on  it  and 
do  nothing.  There  ought  not  to  be  any  difficulty  in 
finding  a  place  that  would  give  us  a  good  house,  and 
enough  money  to  run  the  stables  on,  and  for  my  per- 
sonal expenses,  which  wouldn't  be  heavy,  as  we  would 
stick  there  and  do  our  job.  It  would  be  just  what  I 
hoped  we  should  be  doing  at  Kencote  from  the  dower- 
house.  With  luck,  if  there  happened  to  be  a  vacancy 
anywhere,  I  could  do  better  than  that.  But  that  much, 
at  any  rate,  it  won't  be  difficult  to  get,  with  a  month 
or  so  to  look  round  in." 

"  Then  all  our  difficulties  are  done  away  with !  "  she 
exclaimed.  "  Oh,  Dick,  why  didn't  you  tell  me  be- 
fore.'^ I  thought,  if  your  father  held  out,  we  should 
have  a  terrible  time,  and  you  would  be  as  obstinate  as 
possible  about  my  money.  I'll  tell  you  what  I  have. 
I  have " 

"  I  don't  want  to  know  what  you  have — yet,"  he  in- 
terrupted her.  "  I  didn't  tell  you  before  because  I 
hoped  it  wouldn't  come  to  that.  I  didn't  want  to  face 
the  necessity  of  giving  up  the  service,  and  still  less  of 
having  to  give  up  Kencote.  But  now  there's  no  help 
for  it;  well,  we  must  just  let  all  that  slide  and  make 
the  best  of  things." 

She  still  thought  his  scruples  about  using  her  money 
to  do  what  he  wanted  to  do,  and  his  absence  of  scru- 
ples about  using  it  to  do  what  he  didn't  want,  needed 
more  explanation.  But  she  gave  up  that  point  as 
being  only  one  more  of  the  inexplicable  tortuosities  of 
a  man's  sense  of  honour.  She  was  only  too  glad  that 
the  question  could  be  settled  as  easily  as  that.  But 
Dick  must  have  felt  also  that  it  needed  more  explana- 
tion, for  he  said,  "  When  I  said  that  I  had  no  feeling 
about   letting   you   help   run   the   house — of   course,   I 


126  THE   ELDEST   SON 

really    hate    it    like    poison.      But    there    is    just    the 
difference." 

"  Oh,  of  course  there  is — all  the  difference  in  the 
world,"  she  made  haste  to  reply,  terrified  lest  they  should 
be  going  to  split,  after  all,  on  this  wretched  simulacrum 
of  a  rock.  Then  she  had  a  bright  thought.  "  But, 
Dick  dear,  you  told  me  once  how  lucky  your  ancestors 
had  been  in  marrying  heiresses — not  that  I'm  much  of 
an  heiress !  " 

"  You're  not  an  heiress  at  all,"  he  said  impatiently. 
"  I  suppose  everything  you've  got  comes  from — from 
that  fellow.  Can't  you  see  the  difference.?  I  hate  touch- 
ing his  beastly  money.  And  I  won't,  longer  than  I  can 
help." 

"  But,  Dick !  "  she  exclaimed  wonderingly.  "  Didn't 
you  know  ?  He  never  left  me  a  cent.  He  hadn't  a  cent 
to  leave." 

He  stared  at  her.  "  Then  where  did  it  come  from.?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Why,  from  pigs — from  Chicago,"  she  said,  laugh- 
ing. "  My  father  was  of  an  old  family,  my  mother 
wasn't,  and  one  of  her  brothers  made  a  fortune  in  a 
bacon  factory.  Unfortunately,  he  did  not  make  it  until 
after  she  was  dead  and  I  was  married,  or  it  might  have 
stopped — oh,  many  things.     But  he  left  it  to  me — the 

bacon  factory — and  I  sold  it  for But  you  won't 

let  me  tell  you  how  much." 

"  Oh,  you  can  tell  me  if  it's  yours,"  he  said. 
"  Well,  they  told  me  I  had  been  cheated.     But  what 
was  I  to  do  with  a  bacon  factory.?     And  I  sold  it  for 
as  much  as  I  wanted  to  live  comfortably  on.     I  sold  it 
for  a  quarter  of  a  million  dollars." 

Dick's  stare  was  still  in  evidence.  "  A  quarter  of  a 
million!  Dollars!"  he  repeated.  "That's — what? 
Fifty  thousand  pounds.  By  the  Lord,  Virginia,  you're 
an  heiress  after  all." 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE    HOUSE    PARTY 

"  My  dear  Emmeline,"  said  the  Judge,  "  if  I  hadn't 
such  a  profound  contempt  for  Edward's  intellect  and 
for  everything  represented  or  misrepresented  by  him, 
I  could  feel  it  in  my  heart  to  be  very  sorry  for  him." 

"  My  dear  Herbert,"  replied  Lady  Birkett,  "  if  you 
weren't  as  deeply  sorry  for  him  as  you  actually  are, 
you  wouldn't  be  your  own  kind,  sympathetic,  would-be- 
cynical  self." 

Sir  Herbert  and  Lady  Birkett  with  their  two  daugh- 
ters and  their  son-in-law  had  arrived  at  Kencote  that 
afternoon  to  make  part  of  the  company  gathered  there 
for  the  South  Meadshire  Hunt  Ball.  Other  guests  had 
arrived  by  a  later  train,  but  there  had  been  an  interval 
during  which  the  Judge  had  been  closeted  with  his 
brother-in-law,  the  Squire,  and  heard  from  him  every- 
thing that  had  taken  place  within  the  past  month, 
which  was  the  interval  that  had  elapsed  since  Dick  had 
abruptly  left  Kencote.  He  had  now  come  into  his  wife's 
bedroom,  where  she  was  in  the  later  stages  of  dressing 
for  dinner,  although  dinner  was  as  yet  half  an  hour 
off. 

"  I  know  you  want  to  tell  me  everything,"  she  said, 
"  and  although  the  lady  who  is  doing  my  hair  does  not 
understand  a  word  of  English  as  yet,  you  will  probably 
be  able  to  talk  more  freely  if  she  is  not  present.  If 
you  will  come  back  in  five  minutes  she  will  have  gone 
to  Angela." 

So  the  Judge  went  into  his  dressing-room  and,  find- 
ing his  clothes  already  laid  out,  dressed  and  repaired 

127 


128  THE    ELDEST   SON 

again  to  his  wife,  not  quite  in  five  minutes,  but  in  little 
more  than  ten. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  heard  all  about  it  from  Nina?  " 
he  said,  taking  up  the  conversation  where  he  had  left 
it.     "  Have  you  seen  this  Lady  George  Dubec  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Lady  Birkett.  "  She  is  not  in  the  least 
what  Edward  pictures  her,  according  to  Nina.  As  far 
as  her  looks  tell  one  anything,  I  should  say  she  was  a 
charming  woman." 

"  Edward  paints  her  as  a  voluptuous  siren  of  the 
ballet.  I  suppose  one  may  put  that  down  as  one  of  his 
usual  excursions  of  imagination." 

"  She  certainly  isn't  that,  and  it  was  news  to  me  that 
she  had  ever  been  on  the  stage.  Poor  Nina  is  very  dis- 
tressed about  it.  She  says  that  they  have  had  no  word 
from  Dick  since  he  left  the  house,  that  Edward  has  only 
heard  through  Humphrey  that  he  has  sent  in  his  papers, 
but  even  Humphrey  doesn't  know  where  he  is  or  what 
he  is  doing." 

"  I  had  the  same  news  from  Edward,  with  the  addi- 
tions which  might  be  expected  of  him.  He  takes  it  hard 
that  after  all  he  has  done  for  Dick  he  should  be  treated 
in 'that  way,  and  I  don't  know  that  I  shouldn't  take  it 
hard  in  his  place.  It  makes  me  increasingly  thankful 
that  I  haven't  any  sons." 

This  was  a  poHte  little  fiction  on  the  Judge's  part 
which  his  wife  respected.  It  was  the  chief  regret  of 
his  life  that  he  had  no  son. 

"  Nina  says  he  is  fretting  himself  into  a  fever,"  said 
Lady  Birkett,  "  lest  Dick  should  be  raising  money  on 
his  expectations." 

"  Fretting  himself  into  a  fever,"  rephed  the  Judge, 
"  is  not  the  expression  I  should  use  of  Edward.  But 
he  certainly  feels  deep  annoyance,  and  expresses  it.  He 
had  not  thought  of  that  when  he  delivered  his  ulti- 
matum, and,  as  he  says,  it  would  be  the  easiest  possible 
thing  for  Dick  to  do.     But  I  was  mercifully  able  to 


THE    HOUSE    PARTY  129 

relieve  his  mind  on  tliat  point.  I  did  not  exactly  tell 
him  that  Dick,  although  he  has  more  brains  in  his  little 
finger  than  his  father  has  in  his  head,  is  so  much  like 
him  that  he  would  shrink  from  taking  so  sensible  a  step 
as  much  as  Edward  himself  would ;  but  I  gave  him  the 
gist  of  it.  My  dear  Emmeline,  to  men  like  Edward  and 
Dick,  land — landed  property — is  sacrosanct.  Dick 
would  give  up  any  woman  rather  than  embarrass  an 
acre  of  Kencote.  Kencote  is  his  religion,  just  as  much 
as  it  is  Edward's.  Edward  gained  comfort  from  my 
assurino-  him  of  the  fact.  He  said  that  Dick  was  be- 
having  so  badly  that  right  and  wrong  seemed  to  have 
no  distinction  for  him  for  the  time  being,  but  probably 
there  were  crimes  that  he  would  not  commit,  and  this 
might  be  one  of  them." 

"  I  am  glad  you  told  him  that,"  said  Lady  Birkett. 
"  I  should  think  it  is  probably  true.  But  what  is  he 
doing,  or  thinking  of  doing. ^  " 

"  He  may  be  thinking  of  doing  a  little  honest  work," 
said  the  Judge,  who  had  sat  for  some  time  in  the  House 
of  Commons  as  a  wicked  Radical.  *'  I  put  the  sugges- 
tion to  Edward  for  what  it  was  worth,  but  he  scouted 
it.  As  he  indicated,  there  is  nothing  that  a  man  who 
has  been  through  a  public  school  and  university  train- 
ing, and  has  been  for  ten  or  fifteen  years  in  a  position 
of  responsibility  in  His  Majesty's  army,  can  do.  He 
has  no  money  value  whatever.  I  did  not  contradict 
him." 

"  She  has  money,  I  suppose,"  said  Lady  Birkett. 

"  She  must  have  some.  But  there  again  I  felt  able 
to  reassure  Edward.  I  know  the  Dicks  of  the  world 
pretty  well.  They  are  not  without  their  merits,  and 
there  are  certain  things  they  don't  do.  Of  course,  if 
he  were  working,  and  making  some  sort  of  an  income, 
with  his  prospects  it  would  be  different." 

Lady  Birkett  let  this  go  by.  "Will  Edward  hold 
out,  do  you  think.''  "  she  asked. 


130  THE    ELDEST    SON 

"  Well,"  said  the  Judge  reflectively,  "  I'm  bound  to 
say  it  surprises  me,  but  there  is  every  sign  of  his  hold- 
ing out  till  Doomsday,  or,  which  puts  a  more  likely 
period  to  it,  till  something  unforeseen  happens." 

"  Till  he  hears  that  Dick  has  married  her,  for  in- 
stance." 

"  There  wouldn't  be  much  object  in  his  holding  out 
after  that.  But  there  is  seldom  much  object  in  Ed- 
ward's divagations.  He  is  swayed  by  his  prejudices  and 
by  the  impulses  of  the  moment.  Still,  I'll  do  him  jus- 
tice: he  is  acting  as  sensibly  as  he  knows  how  in  this 
crisis.  I  believe  he  loves  Dick  better  than  any  being 
upon  earth,  with  the  possible  exception  of  himself.  I 
really  believe  he  loves  him  better  than  himself.  Of 
course  Dick  represents  Kencote,  and  the  family,  and 
the  line,  and  all  the  whole  clamjamphrie,  which  partly 
accounts  for  it.  At  any  rate  he  is  causing  his  stupid 
old  self  an  infinity  of  worry  and  annoyance,  and  all 
for  the  sake  of  what  he  considers  a  principle.  I  should 
say  that  Dick  is  acting  foolishly  in  holding  off  alto- 
gether. I  dare  say  Nina  told  you  he  has  not  answered  a 
single  letter.  It  has  always  struck  me  that  he  had 
Edward  completely  under  his  thumb,  and  I  should  have 
said  that  he  had  only  to  hang  on  here  and  play  his 
cards  well  and  Edward  would  have  given  way.  Now 
he  is  stiffening  himself  up." 

"  I    suppose    they    are    both    stiffening    themselves 

up." 

"  You  put  it  in  a  nutshell.  Fancy  Edward  giving 
up  his  season's  hunting  so  that  he  shan't  be  obliged  to 
set  eyes  on  his  aversion  !  That  impresses  me.  He  is  in 
dead  earnest.     He  will  stop  this  marriage  if  he  can." 

"  But  Dick  is  just  as  obstinate." 

"  It  is  the  case  of  the  irresistible  body  and  the  im- 
movable force." 

"Didn't  you  make  any  suggestion.^" 

"  Yesj  I  did.  '  I  suggested  that  he  should  stipulate 


THE    HOUSE    PARTY  131 

for  a  year's  delay.  I  pointed  out  that  if  the  lady  was 
the  bad  character  he  supposes  her  to  be,  Dick,  with  the 
sense  he  has  inherited  from  his  father — I  said  that,  God 
forgive  me — would  come  to  see  it  in  that  time." 

''  Did  he  take  to  the  idea.?  " 

"  Not  at  all.  When  did  Edward  ever  take  to  any 
idea  at  first  sight?  But  it  will  sink  in,  and  I  shall  give 
Tom  Beach  a  hint  to  follow  it  up." 

"  I  believe  it  will  be  the  best  way,  and  Nina  is  going 
to  try  and  see  Dick  when  she  comes  up  with  me  next 
week." 

The  Judge  stroked  his  chin.  "  H'm ! "  he  said. 
"  I'm  afraid  Nina  has  very  little  power  to  help 
matters." 

"  I  am  much  more  sorry  for  Nina  than  I  am  for 
Edward." 

"  Oh,  so  am  I,"  interpolated  the  Judge. 

"  It  is  the  thing  I  can  least  forgive  Dick — his  treat- 
ing his  mother  practically  in  the  same  way  as  Edward 
treats  her — as  if  she  were  of  no  account.  It  doesn't 
promise  well  for  the  happiness  of  this  Lady  George,  or 
whoever  he  does  come  to  marry." 

"  Let's  hope  for  her  own  sake  that  she  won't  make 
Nina's  mistake." 

"  You  mean " 

"  Oh,  Nina  laid  herself  down  to  be  trampled  on  from 
the  very  first.  She  had  plenty  of  character.  She  could 
have  stood  out.  Now,  whatever  character  she  has  has 
been  buried  under  a  mountain  weight  of  stolid  stupidity. 
She  can't  call  her  soul  her  own." 

"  I  think  she  would  act — and  against  Edward — if 
she  saw  her  way  to  act  effectively." 

"  She  would  be  laying  up  a  pretty  bad  time  for  her- 
self if  she  did  act  against  Edward  in  any  way." 

"  Oh,  but  she  wouldn't  mind  that  if  she  thought  it 
was  her  duty." 

*'  Well,  she  can  try.     And  she  might  put  that  idea 


1S2  THE   ELDEST   SON 

of  mine  to  Dick.  Let  him  promise  not  to  marry  the 
lady  for  a  year.  He  has  been  a  bachelor  for  thirty- 
five  or  so,  and  he  can  stand  another.  I  believe  it  might 
be  the  solution.  I  suppose  we  had  better  be  going  down 
now." 

It  was  an  unusually  large  party  for  Kencote  that  as- 
sembled  at   dinner.      The  Squire  took   in  Lady  Alde- 
burgh,  who  must  have  been  five-and-forty  if  a  day,  but 
either  by  a  special  dispensation  of  Providence,  or  by 
mysterious    arts   marvellously    concealed,    was    still   en- 
abled to  present  herself  to  the  world  as  eight-and-twenty. 
The  Squire  did  not  quite  approve  of  this,  but  the  illu- 
sion was  so  complete  that  he  found  himself  talking  to 
her  as  if  she  were  a  girl.     She  was  beautifully  gowned 
in  blue  and  silver,  and  wore  the  Aldeburgh  diamonds, 
which  sparkled  on  the  clear  white  skin  of  her  neck,  on 
her  corsage,  and  in  the  smooth  ripples  of  her  hair.     She 
was  attractive  enough  to  the  eye  to  make  it  possible 
for  her  to  indulge  in  moods  for  the  heightening  of  her 
charm.     Sometimes  she  was  all  childish  gaiety  and  in- 
nocence;  sometimes    the   deep   melancholy  of   her   soul 
looked  out  of  her  violet  eyes,  which  were  so  good  that 
they  had  to  be  given  their  chance ;  sometimes  she  was 
ice.     This  evening  she  had  begun  on  a  pouting  note, 
which  she  had  often  found  effective  with  elderly  gentle- 
men, but  finding  the   Squire  impervious  to  its  appeal 
and  plainly  puzzled  by  it,  remembering  also  that  she  had 
on  her  diamonds,  she  had  exchanged  it  for  the  air  of 
a  grande  dame,  humanised  by  maternal  instinct. 

"  Mother  is  telling  Mr.  Clinton  how  she  has  devoted 
herself  to  my  bringing-up,"  whispered  Lady  Susan  to 
Humphrey.  "  Is  he  likely  to  be  impressed  at  all,  do  you 
think.?" 

"  He  is  likely  to  be  bowled  over  by  the  result,"  re- 
plied Humphrey  gallantly,  and  Lady  Susan,  who  was 
not  so  pretty  as  her  mother,  and  only  slightly  more 
sensible,  told  iiim  not  to  be  an  idiot. 


THE    HOUSE    PARTY  133 

Of  Lady  Birkett's  two  daughters,  Beatrice,  the  elder, 
had  been  accompanied  by  her  husband,  Sir  George  Sen- 
house,  the  rising  young  poHtician,  whose  handsome, 
intellectual  head  would  have  made  him  remarked  any- 
where, but  whose  bent  shoulders,  grey  temples,  and  care- 
lessness of  dress  made  him  seem  older  than  his  years. 
The  younger,  Angela,  sat  by  the  man  she  was  going 
to  marry,  Hammond-Watt,  the  youngest  K.C.  at  the 
Bar.  The  inclusion  of  these  two  men  in  the  party  had 
caused  Bobby  Trench,  Humphrey's  friend,  to  ask  if 
he  had  come  to  Kencote  for  a  ball  or  a  political  meet- 
ing, and  to  suggest  the  advisability  of  clearing  out 
again  before  he  should  be  asked  for  a  speech.  This 
young  gentleman,  to  whom  the  accident  of  birth  had 
brought  the  privilege  of  taking  in  his  hostess,  and  whose 
other  neighbour  had  been  Beatrice  Birkett,  asked  him- 
self before  dinner  was  over  what  he  had  come  for,  ball 
or  no  ball.  He  was  accustomed  to  shine  in  smart  coun- 
try houses,  and  Kencote  was  not  at  all  smart.  He  had 
found  Mrs.  Clinton  unresponsive  to  his  light  chatter, 
and  Angela  Birkett  so  taken  up  with  the  conversation 
of  her  K.C.  that  she  had  little  attention  to  spare  for 
him.  George  Senhouse,  who  sat  opposite  to  him,  made 
no  effort  to  follow  his  lead,  and,  in  fact,  ignored  him 
as  far  as  possible,  which  secretly  annoyed  him.  Lady 
Aldeburgh,  who  would  have  permitted  him  to  flirt  with 
her,  was  beyond  his  reach,  and  her  daughter  was  too 
much  taken  up  with  Humphrey  to  do  more  than  ex- 
change a  light  sally  or  two  with  him.  He  was  reduced 
to  eating  his  dinner,  which  was  a  very  good  one, 
and,  in  large  intervals  of  silence,  to  gazing  around 
upon  the  company  and  inwardly  ejaculating,  "  Never 
again !  " 

When  the  ladies  had  left  the  room  the  Squire,  with 
old-fashioned  courtesj',  brought  the  decanters  down  to 
his  end  of  the  table  and  engaged  him  in  conversation 
about  his  father. 


134  THE    ELDEST    SON 

"  I  recollect  very  well,"  said  the  Squire,  in  his  loud, 
confident  tones,  "  when  Cane  Chair  won  the  Derby  at 
thirty-to-one,  by  George ! — dear  me,  I  should  be  afraid 
to  say  how  many  years  ago.  He  belonged  to  your 
grandfather,  and  of  course  we  were  all  on  him.  Your 
father  and  I " 

"  Oh  yes,  he's  told  me  that  story  dozens  of  times," 
said  Bobby  Trench. 

"  Oh ! "  said  the  Squire,  somewhat  disconcerted. 
"  Yes,  I  suppose  he  has." 

"  We  haven't  heard  it  dozens  of  times,"  said  George 
Senhouse.     "  What  was  the  story,  Mr.  Clinton  ?  " 

The  Squire  turned  towards  him  and  his  face  light- 
ened. "  I  haven't  thought  about  it  for  years,"  he  said. 
"  It's  just  come  back  to  me.  Jim  Trench  and  I  made 
up  our  minds  we  would  go  and  see  the  horse  run,  so  we 
got  out  of  a  window  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning — 
did  I  say  it  was  when  we  were  at  Cambridge  together.? 
— and  drove  tandem  to  Hitchin,  where  we  got  a  train 
to  London.  I  recollect  we  had  sent  on  a  change  of 
horses  to — to  some  place  half-way.  We  slunk  about 
amongst  the  crowd,  as  Jim's  father  was  particular — 
wouldn't  bet  even  on  his  own  horses  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing,  and  I  don't  blame  him ;  I  haven't  had  a  bet  on  a 
horse  since  I  was  in  the  Blues ; — and  he  wouldn't  have 
taken  it  well  to  see  Jim  at  Epsom  when  he  ought  to 
have  been  at  Cambridge.  Well,  we  saw  the  horse  win, 
and,  by  George !  I  should  be  afraid  to  say  how  much 
money  your  father " — here  he  turned  again  towards 
Bobby  Trench — "  took  off  the  bookies." 

"  Pots,"  said  Bobby  laconically.  "  But  he  lost  it 
all  over  the  Leger." 

"  Ah,  well,  the  best  thing  he  could  have  done,"  said 
the  Squire.  "  I  had  put  on  a  tenner,  and  both  of  us 
had  had  a  little  ready-money  transaction  on  the  course 
after  we'd  seen  the  horse  canter;  so  we  went  back  to 
London  with  a  pocketful  each,  and  by  George !  " — here 


THE    HOUSE    PARTY  195 

the  Squire  laughed  his  great  laugh — "  we'd  dropped  it 
all  to  a  pack  of  card-sliarpcrs  before  we  got  there.  We 
were  pretty  green  in  those  days,  and  it  was  all  our 
own  fault,  so  we  didn't  quarrel  with  the  fellows — we'd 
tried  to  have  them,  and  they'd  had  us  instead.  We 
made  'em  show  us  how  it  was  done,  so  that  we  shouldn't 
be  had  again,  and  I  recollect  they  said  we  were  a  couple 
of  good  sportsmen  and  gave  us  a  sovereign  or  two  back 
to  get  us  to  Cambridge,  or  we  should  have  had  to  walk 
there,  by  George ! 

"  But  that  wasn't  the  end  of  it,"  proceeded  the  Squire 
after  he  had  done  justice  to  his  youthful  memories  with 
a  hearty  laugh.  "  We  celebrated  the  occasion  with  a 
supper  of  the  True  Blue  Club,  in  your  father's  rooms 
— has  he  told  you  that  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  whether  he's  ever  told  me  the  truth 
about  it,"  admitted  Bobby  Trench. 

"  Weil,  it's  a  long  time  ago,"  said  the  Squire,  "  and 
we  were  all  young  and  foolish.  It  was  a  lively  supper, 
and  your  father  went  out  for  a  little  fresh  air.  They 
used  to  keep  the  college  buttery  stores  in  barges  on 
the  river  in  those  days,  and  after  wandering  about  a  bit 
and  climbing  a  few  fences  and  gates  for  purposes  of 
his  own  he  found  himself  on  the  St.  John's  barge.  Then 
he  thought  he'd  like  a  bath,  and  it  didn't  somehow 
occur  to  him  to  go  in  over  the  side,  so  he  knocked 
a  hole  in  the  bottom  of  the  barge  and  sank  her,  by 
George !  " 

Here  the  Squire  interrupted  himself  to  laugh  again. 
"  He  had  all  the  bath  he  wanted,  and  the  wonder  is  he 
wasn't  drowned,"  he  concluded.  "  Well,  we  had  some 
pretty  lively  times  in  those  days,  and  it  doesn't  do  you 
any  harm  to  recall  them  occasionally.  I  should  like 
to  see  your  father  again.  It  must  be  thirty  years  since 
I  set  eyes  on  him.  Wonder  if  he'd  care  to  come  and 
shoot  one  of  these  days.^" 

Bobby  Trench  said  he  was  sure  he  would  be  delighted, 


136  THE   ELDEST   SON 

and  undertook  to  deliver  a  message,  which  he  fulfilled 
later  on  by  informing  his  father  that  his  one-time  friend 
had  developed  into  a  regular  old  turnip-hoer,  and  if  he 
wanted  to  sit  and  listen  to  long-winded  yarns  about 
nothing  Kencote  was  the  place  to  go  to. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE    HUNT    BALL 

The  Assembly  Room  of  the  Royal  Hotel  at  Bathgate 
had  been  the  scene  of  many  fashionable  gatherings  in 
days  gone  by,  when  London  had  not  been  so  easy  of 
access,  and  the  rank  and  fashion  of  South  Meadshire 
had  been  wont  to  meet  there  for  their  mutual  enjoy- 
ment, on  nights  when  the  moon  was  round  and  roads 
not  too  deep  in  mire.  The  Regent  had  once  shown  his 
resplendent  presence  there,  having  been  entertained  at 
Kencote  by  Beau  Clinton,  who  hated  the  place  and  spent 
its  revenues  in  London,  but  had  furbished  it  up  at  rare 
expense — to  the  tradesmen  who  did  the  work — for  the 
reception  of  his  royal  patron.  The  Prince  had  ex- 
pressed himself  pleased  with  what  had  been  done,  and 
told  his  host  that  it  was  surprising  what  you  could 
do  with  a  damned  dull  hole  like  that  when  you  tried; 
but  he  had  not  repeated  his  visit,  and  Beau  Clinton's 
extravagance  had  soon  after  been  redeemed  by  his 
brother  the  merchant,  who  succeeded  him  as  Squire  of 
Kencote,  and  just  in  time,  or  there  would  have  been 
nothing  to  succeed  to. 

The  royal  visit  to  the  Assembly  at  Bathgate  was  still 
to  be  recalled  by  the  lustre  chandelier  in  the  middle  of 
the  room  which  was  surmounted  by  the  Prince  of  Wales's 
feathers.  The  landlord  of  those  days  had  followed  the 
example  of  Beau  Clinton,  except  in  the  matter  of  for- 
getting to  pay  his  tradespeople,  and  spent  a  large  sum 
in  decorating  the  room;  and  he  thought  himself  well 
repaid  when  the  princely  patron  of  the  arts  had  re- 
marked that  it  was  "  devilish  chaste."     It  had  hardly 

137 


158  THE   ELDEST    SON 

been  touched  since.  The  red  silk  panels  on  the  walls  were 
faded,  and  here  and  there  frayed,  and  the  white  paint 
which  surrounded  them  was  much  the  worse  for  wear. 
Of  the  Sheraton  settees  that  had  once  surrounded  the 
walls  only  one  remained,  on  the  dais  at  the  end  of  the 
room.  It  was  that  on  which  the  royal  form  had  re- 
posed, and  the  present  landlord  had  refused,  it  was 
reported,  a  large  sum  for  it.  There  was  a  musicians' 
gallery  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  room,  and  sconces  for 
candles  between  the  panels.  It  was  still  a  handsome 
room,  and  on  the  annual  occasion  of  the  South  Mead- 
shire  Hunt  Ball,  its  shabbiness  disguised  with  flowers, 
it  had  quite  an  air.  But  it  was  small  for  these  latter 
days,  and,  for  the  dancers,  apt  to  be  inconveniently 
crowded.  Bobby  Trench,  after  he  had  had  his  toes  trod- 
den on  and  his  shirt-front  crumpled,  inwardly  repeated 
his  ejaculations  of  dinner-time,  "  Never  again!  " 

But  he  was,  fortunately,  in  a  minority.  The  bulk 
of  the  healthy  open-air-looking  young  men  and  the 
pretty  country-bred  girls  who  footed  it  to  the  strains 
of  a  brisk  and  enlivening  string  band  were  not  so  par- 
ticular as  he.  They  smiled  at  the  mishaps  of  others 
and  laughed  at  their  own,  and  enjoyed  themselves  thor- 
oughly, as  young  men  and  women  do  who  are  not  sur- 
feited with  pleasure.  Their  elders  looked  on  from  the 
rout  seats  placed  round  the  room,  or  from  their  place 
of  vantage  on  the  dais,  and  in  the  intervals  of  the  babel 
of  talk — for  nearly  all  of  them  knew  one  another  and 
had  a  great  deal  to  say — thought  of  their  own  young 
days  and  were  pleased  to  see  their  pleasure  repeated  by 
their  sons  and  daughters.  There  is  no  ball  like  a  coun- 
try ball,  not  too  overwhelmingly  invaded  from  London 
or  elsewhere.  It  has  the  essence  of  sociability,  where 
people  meet  who  do  not  meet  too  often,  and  there  is 
something  for  the  young  ones  to  do  and  the  old  ones  to 
look  on  at.  If  the  Bobby  Trenches  who  happen  upon 
it  compare  it  unfavourably  with  more  splendid  enter- 


THE    HUNT   BALL  139 

talnmcnts,  it  is  to  be  doubted  if  those  entertainments 
are  so  mucli  enjoyed  by  those  who  take  part  in  them, 
except  perhaps  by  the  novices,  to  whom  all  gaiety  is 
glamour. 

The  Squire,  sitting  on  the  dais  as  became  a  man  of 
his  position  in  the  county,  scanned  the  assembly  after 
having  conducted  Lady  Aldeburgh  through  the  mazes 
of  the  opening  quadrille,  and  the  frown  which  had  left 
his  face  for  the  past  few  hours,  but  had  sat  there  al- 
most invariably  during  the  past  month,  appeared  again. 
Lady  Aldeburgh  was  talking  to  old  Lord  Mcadshire,  his 
kinsman,  who  in  spite  of  age  and  chronic  asthma  was 
still  an  inveterate  frequenter  of  local  festivities,  and 
he  had  a  moment's  interval  in  which  his  trouble  rolled 
back  upon  him.  He  had  had  a  dim  hope  that  Dick,  who 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  except  vrhen  he  was  in 
South  Africa,  had  not  come  home  for  Christmas,  might 
show  up  at  Bathgate  for  this  occasion.  It  had  been  a 
very  small  hope,  for  nothing  had  been  heard  from  him, 
and  he  had  even  left  them  to  take  it  for  granted  that 
he  had  put  off  Captain  Vernon,  the  friend  whom  he 
had  asked  to  stay  at  Kencote  for  the  balls.  And, 
furthermore,  if  he  should  be  there  it  would  be  as  a  guest 
of  Lady  George  Dubec,  who  was  known  still  to  be  at 
Blaythorn.  But  even  that  disagreeable  condition  did 
not  entirely  do  away  with  the  Squire's  desire  to  set 
eyes  on  his  son,  for  whose  presence  he  longed  more  and 
more  as  the  days  went  on.  But  there  was  no  Dick  to 
be  seen  amongst  the  red-coated  men  in  the  room,  and  as 
yet  there  was  no  Lady  George  Dubec. 

But  as  he  looked  over  the  moving  crowd  of  dancers, 
and  the  bordering  rows  of  men  and  matrons  sitting  and 
standing,  his  bushy  brows  contracted  still  more,  for  he 
saw  her  come  in  beneath  the  musicians'  gallery  at  the 
other  end  of  the  hall  with  Miss  Dexter,  and,  which 
caused  him  still  further  disquietude,  saw  her  instantly 
surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  men.     He  turned  his  head 


140  THE    ELDEST   SON 

away  with  an  impatient  shrug  and  broke  into  the  con- 
versation between  Lady  Aldeburgh  and  Lord  Mead- 
shire.  But  this  did  not  save  him,  for  Lord  Meadshire, 
whose  old  twinkling  eyes  were  everywhere,  said  in  his 
low  husky  voice,  "  There's  the  lady  I  met  driving  yes- 
terday. Tell  me  who  she  is,  my  dear  Edward,  and  rer 
Heve  my  curiosity." 

The  Squire,  mumbling  inaudibly,  got  up  from  his 
seat  and,  turning  his  back  upon  the  hall,  entered  into 
a  conversation  with  the  wife  of  the  Master  of  the  South 
Meadshire,  whom  he  disliked,  but  who  happened  to  be 
the  only  lady  disengaged  at  the  moment.  But  she  said, 
when  she  had  answered  his  first  remark,  "  There  is  Lady 
George.  She  looks  handsomer  than  ever  " ;  and  turn- 
ing  his  back  again  he  went  out  into  a  room  where  there 
was  a  buffet  and  swallowed  a  glass  of  champagne,  al- 
though he  knew  that  a  tablespoonful  would  have  brought 
him  discomfort. 

Virginia  was  dressed  in  a  gown  of  shimmering  blue 
green  which  had  the  effect  of  moonlight.     She  had  a 
row   of  turquoises   round   her   slim  neck.      Her  colour 
was  higher  than  usual  and  her  eyes  sparkled.     No  one 
of  those  who  pressed  round  her  admiring  her  beauty 
and  gay  charm  could  have  guessed  that  it  was  excite- 
ment of  no  pleasurable  sort  that  brought  the  light  to 
her  eyes  and  the  laughter  to  her  Hps.     But  Miss  Dex- 
ter, standing  demurely  by  her  side,  dressed  in  black, 
her   light   hair   combed   unbecomingly   back   from   her 
broad    forehead,    and    receiving    with    equanimity    the 
crumbs  of  invitation  that  fell  from  her  friend's  richly 
spread  table,  knew  with  what  shrinking  Virginia  had 
brought  herself  to  make  her  appearance  here.     Both  of 
them  knew  very  well  why  the  Squire  had  no  more  been 
seen  in  the  hunting  field  since  that  first  day;  both  of 
them  had  been  aware  of  him  the  moment  they  had  en- 
tered the  room,  had  seen  his  movements,  and  interpreted 
them  correctly. 


THE    HUNT    BALL  141 

Virginia  was  soon  dancing  with  Bobby  Trench,  who 
had  drawn  her  impatiently  away  from  licr  suitors,  tell- 
ing her  that  tlie  valsc  was  half  over  and  that  she  could 
fill  up  her  card  later. 

"  Jove !  "  he  said,  when  they  had  danced  once  round 
the  room  in  silence,  "  it's  a  relief  to  come  across  a 
friend  amongst  all  these  clodhoppers.  How  on  earth 
do  you  find  yourself  here.''  " 

"  I'm  living  near  here  at  present,"  she  said.  "  How 
do  you?  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  a  visitor — a  non-paying  guest  in  a  house 
like  a  Hydropathic  Establishment,  or  what  I  imagine 
one  to  be  like.     Fine  house,  but  mixed  company." 

"  Then  if  you  are  a  guest  you  ought  not  to  say  so," 
said  Virginia,  whose  thoughts  so  ran  on  Kencote  that 
it  was  the  first  house  that  occurred  to  her  as  possibly 
affording  him  hospitality. 

"  Oh,  they're  all  right,  really,"  he  said,  "  only  they're 
the  sort  of  people  who  take  root  in  the  country  and 
grow  there,  like  cabbages — except  the  chap  who  asked 
me.  He's  one  of  the  sons,  and  he'd  smarten  'em  up  if 
he  had  his  way.  Humphrey  Chnton !  Do  you  know 
him.?" 

"  No,"  said  Virginia.  "  Well,  yes,  I've  met  him  in 
London.     I  don't  like  him." 

"  Eh.?     V^^hy  not?     I'll  tell  him." 

"  Very  well.  Let's  go  and  sit  down.  The  room  is  too 
crowded." 

But  Bobby  Trench,  who  saw  the  end  of  the  dance  in 
sight,  and  knew  that  directly  Virginia  sat  down  other 
men  would  come  up  to  her,  continued  to  dance.  "  I 
haven't  bumped  you  yet,"  he  said.  "  We'll  steer 
through  somehow.  Are  you  going  to  Kemsale  on 
Monday?  " 

"  No,"  said  Virginia,  and  left  off  dancing,  having 
come  to  the  end  of  the  room,  where  Miss  Dexter  was 
still  standing.     As  her  partner  had  foreseen,  she  was 


142  THE    ELDEST    SON 

immediately  besieged  again,  and  as  for  some,  to  him, 
unaccountable  reason,  she  refused  to  book  another  en- 
gagement with  him,  he  went  away  and  left  her  in  a 
hufF. 

He  came  across  Humphrey,  who  was  partnerless  for 
the  moment.  *'  Let's  go  and  get  a  drink,"  he  said. 
"  I'm  dry.  I  say,  you  didn't  tell  me  that  Virginia 
Dubec  lived  in  these  parts." 

"  She  doesn't,"  replied  Humphrey  as  they  made  their 
way  towards  the  room  with  the  buffet.  "  She  has  taken 
a  house  here  for  a  few  months.  My  brother  Dick  got 
it  for  her," 

*'  Oh,  I  thought  she  said  she  didn't  know  your  people. 
Where  is  your  brother,  by  the  by  ?  " 

Humphrey  considered  for  a  moment  as  to  whether  he 
should  enlighten  him  as  to  the  state  of  the  case,  and 
decided  not  to,  but  wished  almost  immediately  that  he 
had,  for  as  they  went  into  the  refreshment-room  they 
met  his  father  coming  out,  and  Bobby  Trench,  who 
always  spoke  what  was  passing  through  his  mind  to  the 
nearest  available  person,  said,  "  I've  found  a  friend, 
Mr.  Clinton — Lady  George  Dubec.  Didn't  know  she 
was  in  your  part  of  the  country." 

The  Squire  scowled  at  him,  and  went  out  of  the  room 
without  a  word. 

"  Nice  manners !  "  commented  Bobby  Trench  to  him- 
self. 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  Humphrey,  "  that  the  governor 
won't  know  the  lady." 

"Why  not.?  What's  the  matter  with  her.?"  asked 
his  friend.  "  I  should  have  thought  she'd  have  been  a 
godsend  in  a  place  like  this.  I  thought  you  said  your 
brother  got  her  down  here." 

"  So  he  did,"  said  Humphrey,  making  a  clean  breast 
of  it.  "  That's  wliat  the  row's  about.  Governor 
wouldn't  have  anything  to  do  with  her,  and  so  Dick 
has  retired  from  the  scene  for  a  time.     But  don't  say 


THE    HUNT    BALL  143 

anything  about  it,  old  chap.     Little  family  disturbance 
we  don't  want  to  go  any  farther." 

"  Course  not,"  said  Bobby  Trench,  delighted  to  get 
hold  of  the  end  of  a  piece  of  gossip  and  determined  to 
draw  out  the  rest  as  soon  as  possible.  "  So  that's  how 
the  land  lies,  is  it?  Now  I  see  why  she  didn't  want  to 
have  any  more  truck  with  this  engaging  youth.  Well, 
your  brother's  taste  is  to  be  commended.  Why  does 
your  father  object  to  her?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  Old-fashioned  prejudice,  I  sup- 
pose ;  and  he  knew  George  Dubec." 

"  And  he  was  a  daisy,  from  all  accounts.  Come  on, 
we'd  better  be  getting  back."  •  * 

Old  Lord  Meadshire,  who  had  been  Lord-Lieutenant 
of  the  county  from  which  his  title  came  for  over  forty 
years,  and  took  an  almost  fatherly  interest  in  its  in- 
habitants, learnt  from  Mrs.  Graham  who  the  unknown 
lady  was. 

"  Oh,  I  can  tell  you  all  about  her,"  she  said.  "  She's 
making  a  fine  disturbance  in  this  little  duck-pond." 

"  Well,  she's  pretty  enough  to  make  a  disturbance 
anywhere,"  said  the  old  lord,  whose  kindly  eye  for  youth 
and  beauty  was  not  dimmed  by  his  eighty  years.  "  And 
if  there  is  anything  going  on,  I  know  I  can  trust  you 
to  tell  me  all  about  it." 

"  There  it  is  again,"  repHed  Mrs.  Graham.  "  I'm 
getting  the  reputation  of  a  tale-bearer,  and  there's 
nothing  I  hate  more.  Still,  I  think  you  ought  to  know." 
And  she  told  him  who  Virginia  was,  and  what  was  hap- 
pening because  she  was  what  she  was. 

The  old  man  grew  rather  serious  as  the  story  was 
unfolded  to  him.  "  Edward  Clinton  was  always  head- 
strong," he  said,  "  but  it's  unlike  him  to  quarrel  with 
Dick.  I  think  he  ought  to  have  waited  to  see  what  she 
was  like  first." 

"  Of  course  he  ought,"  said  Mrs.  Graham.  "  I've 
no  patience  with  him.     He  had  the  impudence  to  take 


144  THEELDESTSON 

me  to  task  for  asking  her  to  dinner,  and  Jim  and  Cicely 
to  meet  her.  But  he  didn't  get  much  change  out 
of  me." 

"  You  told  him  what  you  thought  about  him — 
what.?" 

"  I  told  him  what  I  thought  about  her,  and  left  him 
to  infer  the  rest.  There's  nothing  wrong  about  her,  if 
she  did  marry  Lord  George  Dubec,  and  all  the  rest 
of  it.  I  like  her,  and  I  told  him  so.  And  if  I  can't  ask 
my  own  son  and  daughter-in-law  to  meet  whom  I  like 
in  my  own  house  without  being  hauled  over  the  coals 
by  ]\Ir.  Clinton — well,  he'll  be  expecting  me  to  ask  him 
what  I'm  to  wear  next." 

"  He  couldn't  improve  on  that,"  said  Lord  Mead- 
shire,  with  an  appreciative  glance  at  her  pretty  gown 
of  pale  blue  silk  under  brown  net. 

"  Thank  you,"  returned  Mrs.  Graham.  "  I  hate 
clothes,  but  I  can  get  myself  up  if  I'm  flattered  enough 
beforehand.  Cicely  does  that  for  me.  I've  no  com- 
plaint to  make  of  her  as  a  daughter-in-law." 

"  Well,  you  had  better  introduce  me  to  Lady 
George,"  said  Lord  Meadshire.  "  She  must  be  asked 
to  Kemsale  on  Monday.  And  I'll  find  an  opportunity 
of  dropping  a  word  of  common  sense  into  Edward's 
ear,  eh  ?  " 

"  It  will  go  out  at  the  other.  There's  nothing  to  stop 
it,"  said  Mrs.  Graham.  "  But  it  will  be  a  good  thing 
to  show  him  he's  not  going  to  have  it  all  his  own  way." 

The  introduction  was  duly  made,  and  Virginia,  palpi- 
tating under  her  air  of  assured  ease,  talked  to  him 
for  some  little  time,  sitting  with  him  on  the  dais.  She 
knew  that  this  kind  old  man  who  chatted  pleasantly  with 
her,  making  feeble  little  jokes  in  his  asthmatic  voice, 
which  his  eyes,  plainly  admiring  her,  asked  her  to  smile 
at,  was  the  most  important  of  all  Dick's  relations,  be- 
sides being  the  most  important  man  in  the  county,  and 
that  if  she  could  win  him  to  like  her  his  influence  might 


THE    HUNT   BALL  145 

well  avail  to  ease  her  lover's  path.  That  he  did  like  her 
and  was  prepared  to  accept  her  in  friendly  wise  as  a 
neighbour  was  plain.  But  she  had  a  moment  of  fright 
when  he  said,  "  We  are  dancing  at  Kemsale  on  Monday 
night.  You  must  come.  Where  is  Eleanor,  I  wonder.''  " 
And  he  looked  round  for  Lady  Kemsale,  his  widowed 
daughter-in-law,  who  kept  house  for  him. 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  she  said  hurriedly.  She  did  not 
know  in  the  least  how  much  he  knew,  or  whether  he 
knew  anything.     "  Captain  Clinton  found  me  my  house 

here,  but "     She  did  not  know  how  to  go  on,  and 

feared  she  had  already  said  too  much  in  her  confusion, 
but  he  turned  towards  her. 

"  Oh,  I  know,  I  know,"  he  said  kindly,  and  then 
beckoned  to  his  daughter-in-law,  a  stout,  rather  severe- 
looking  lady  in  steely  grey,  who  greeted  Virginia  with- 
out smiling  and  gave  the  required  invitation  rather 
coldly. 

"  I  will  send  you  a  card,"  she  said,  "  and  please  bring 
any  friends  you  may  have  with  you." 

Lady  Kemsale  had  just'  heard  the  story  of  his 
troubles  from  the  Squire,  who  had  found  in  her  a  sym- 
pathetic listener,  and  she  had  heard  that  Virginia  had 
once  danced  on  the  stage.  She  would  have  preferred  to 
have  ignored  her,  but  Lord  Meadshire's  commands  must 
be  obeyed,  and  even  as  she  obeyed  them  and  gave  the 
invitation  her  sympathy  with  the  Squire's  troubles  be- 
gan to  wane  and  she  said  to  herself  that  he  must  have 
made  a  mistake.  There  was  nothing  of  the  stage- 
charmer  about  this  woman,  and  Lady  Kemsale  thought 
she  knew  all  about  that  class  of  temptress,  for  her  own 
nephew  had  recently  married  one  of  them.  She  pre- 
served her  stately,  unsmiling  air  as  she  turned  away,  bub 
she  was  already  softened,  if  Virginia  had  only  known  it. 

But  Virginia's  sensibilities  had  already  taken  renewed 
fright  at  her  manner,  and  in  a  way  the  exhibition  of 
which  now   somewhat   disturbed   old   Lord   Meadshire. 


146  THE   ELDEST   SON 

She  rose  to  her  feet,  and  her  air  was  no  less  stately 
than  that  of  Lady  Kemsale.     "  It  is  very  kind  of  you 
to  ask  me  to  your  house,"  she  said,  "  but  I  think  under 
the  present  circumstances   I  would  rather  not  come." 
Then  she  made  him  a  bow  and  stepped  off  the  dais,  and 
was  immediately  seized  by  her  partner  of  the  dance  that 
was  then  in  progress.     She  was  angry,  but  did  not  speak 
to  him  until  they  had  circled  the  room  twice.     She  was 
willing  to  pay  court  to  the  people  amongst  whom  she 
was  going  to  marry  if  they  treated  her  properly.     She 
was  willing  to  do  even  more  than  that  for  Dick's  sake, 
and  to  run  the  risk  of  slights,  and  she  had  done  so  by 
staying  at  Blaythorn,  as  he  had  asked  her  to  do,  and 
by  coming  here  to-night.     But  she  was  not  going  to 
put  up  with  slights  from  women  who  chose  to  treat  her 
as  of  no  account  and  as  if  she  were  anxious  at  all  costs 
to  obtain  their  countenance.     There  might  be  women 
who  would  be  glad  to  gain  entrance  to  a  house  like 
Kemsale  even  after  such  an  invitation  as  Lady  Kem- 
sale   had   given    her,    but    she   was    not   one    of    them. 
The  invitation,  if  it  came  after  what  she  had  said  to 
Lord  Meadshire,  should  be  refused.     The  woman  whom 
Dick  was  going  to  marry  would  not  be  recognised  on 
those   terms.      She   would   wait   until   she   could  go   to 
Kemsale  as  an  equal,  and  if  that  time  never  came  she 
would  not  go  at  all.     In  the  meantime  she  was  spending 
a  very  wearing  evening,  and  had  an  impulse  to  cut  it 
all  short  and  summon  Miss  Dexter  to  accompany  her 
home.     But  the  thought  that  she  was  going  through  it 
for  Dick's  sake  sustained  her,  and  she  said  to  herself 
that  since  she  had  wrought  up  her  courage  to  come  she 
would  not  run  away. 

The  person  who  did  run  away,  before  the  dancing  was 
half  over,  was  the  Squire.  He  could  stand  it  no  longer. 
He  could  not  remain  in  the  refreshment-room  all  the 
evening,  and,  as  he  hated  cards,  the  solace  of  the  tables, 
set  out  quite  in  old  Assembly-room  style  in  another 


THE    HUNT   BALL  147 

room,  did  not  avail  him.  If  he  led  out  a  dowager  to 
take  his  part  in  a  square  dance  there  was  always  the 
haunting  fear  that  Virginia  might  be  brought  into  the 
same  set,  and  if  he  sat  and  looked  on  at  the  round 
dances  the  hateful  sight  of  her  dark  head  and  slender 
form  was  always  before  him.  Moreover,  he  had  not  yet 
talked  to  any  one  who  had  not  either  made  some  remark 
about  her  or  asked  him  why  Dick  was  not  there,  or, 
worse  still,  maintained  an  ominous  silence  on  the  subject 
of  both  of  them,  showing  plainly  that  he  or  she  was 
aware  of  the  disturbance  in  his  household,  which  galled 
him  exceedingly,  although  to  sympathetic  and  assum- 
edly  secret  ears  like  those  of  Lady  Kemsale  he  was  ready 
to  talk  his  fill,  and  gain  relief  from  doing  so.  He  could 
not  keep  what  he  felt  out  of  his  face,  and  he  saw  people 
looking  at  him  with  furtive  amusement  as  he  sat  there 
glowering  at  the  assembly,  or  trying  his  best  to  talk  as 
if  he  had  nothing  on  his  mind.  He  felt  instinctively  that 
the  story  was  being  put  all  about  the  room,  as  indeed 
it  was,  for  rumour  was  already  in  the  air,  and  had 
gained  impulse  by  Dick's  absence  and  his  own  behaviour. 
And  then  Lord  Meadshire — Cousin  Humphrey,  as  he 
had  called  him  ever  since  he  was  a  child,  and  called  him 
still — had  talked  to  him  about  Dick  and  about  Virginia, 
coupling  their  names  together,  as  he  disgustedly  said 
to  himself,  showing  plainly  that  he  knew  what  was  on 
foot,  and  inviting  confidences  if  the  Squire  felt  disposed 
to  give  them.  He  did  not  feel  so  disposed.  He  was 
angry  with  his  kinsman  for  so  publicly  giving  his  coun- 
tenance to  Virginia,  flouting  him  in  the  face — so  he  felt 
it — making  it  appear  as  if  he,  in  the  place  where  he  had 
all  his  life  cut  a  distinguished  figure,  and  his  wishes, 
were  not  worth  regarding.  "  I  don't  know  the  lady  and 
don't  want  to,"  he  said,  one  might  say  petulantly. 
"  And  as  for  Dick — she  wanted  to  come  here  and  he 
told  her  of  a  house.  Considering  he  has  scarcely  been 
near  the  place  since  she  came,  it's  most  annoying  to  hear 


148  THE    ELDEST   SON 

him  talked  about  as  if  there  was  something  between 
them.  I  hope  you'll  do  what  you  can  to  contradict  that 
report.     You  can  do  a  lot  if  you  want  to." 

Lord  Meadshire  glanced  at  him  quizzically.  He 
knew  well  enough  his  ostrich-like  habit  of  burying  one 
fact  in  a  Sahara  of  words  and  leaving  a  dozen  for  all 
the  world  to  see.  "  Come  now,  my  dear  Edward,"  he 
said  persuasively,  "  why  not  make  friends  with  the 
lady  ?  You  will  find  her  everything  she  ought  to  be,  and 
a  charming  woman  into  the  bargain.  If  Dick  is  a  little 
struck  with  her  charms,  I  don't  wonder  at  it,  and  there's 
nothing  to  be  alarmed  at.  The  best  thing  you  can  do 
is  to  keep  your  eye  on  her  while  he  is  away." 

But  this  was  a  little  too  much.  Cousin  Humphrey 
had  been  his  boyhood's  idol,  and  was  the  only  member 
left  of  an  older  generation  of  his  family  with  the  ex- 
ception of  Aunt  Laura,  but  if  he  thought  that  he  could 
treat  him  as  an  obstinate  child  who  was  to  be  coaxed 
into  good  behaviour,  he  was  mistaken.  "  Nothing  will 
induce  me  to  make  friends  with  her  or  to  recognise  her 
in  any  way,"  he  said,  with  decision.  "  Where's  Nina? 
I'm  going  home.     I  can't  stand  this  any  longer." 

Mrs.  Clinton,  who  was  enjoying  herself  in  a  quiet 
way,  talking  to  people  whom  she  seldom  saw,  and  infi- 
nitely relieved  in  her  mind  to  find  Virginia  what  she  was, 
and  not  what  she  had  feared  she  might  be,  even  a  little 
fascinated  by  her  grace  and  beauty,  and  watching  her 
all  the  time  even  when  she  was  talking,  was  disagreeably 
surprised  at  the  curt  request  of  her  lord  and  master 
that  she  should  instantly  accompany  him  home.  "  But, 
Edward ! "  she  exclaimed,  "  we  have  not  ordered  the 
carriage  until  one  o'clock,  and  it  is  not  yet  eleven. 
Aren't  you  well  ?  " 

"  We  can  get  a  fly,"  snapped  the  Squire.  "  Yes,  I'm 
quite  well.     But  I  can't  put  up  with  any  more  of  this." 

Still  she  hesitated.  There  were  her  guests  to  think 
of.    How  could  she  go  off  and  leave  them. ^^ 


THE    HUNT    BALL  149 

"  If  you  like  I  will  go  home  with  Uncle  Edward," 
said  Angela  Senhouse,  to  whom  she  had  been  talking. 
"  I  think  it  would  make  people  uneasy  if  you  were  to 
go."  She  looked  at  the  Squire  with  her  calm,  rather 
cold  eyes,  and  he  suddenly  grew  ashamed  of  himself. 
"  I'll  get  a  fly  and  go  by  myself.  You  had  better  stay 
here,  Nina."  And  he  took  himself  off  without  further 
ado. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A    SHOOT 

On  the  morning  after  the  Hunt  Ball  the  Clinton  twins 
rose,  as  usual  with  them  in  the  winter,  about  half-past 
eight  o'clock.  In  the  summer  they  were  up  and  out  of 
doors  at  all  sorts  of  unorthodox  hours,  but  in  the  cold 
long  nights  they  slept  like  young  hibernating  animals, 
snuggling  amongst  their  warm  coverings,  and  occasion- 
ally having  to  be  extricated  by  all  the  powers  of  per- 
suasion, moral  and  physical,  possessed  by  Miss  Bird. 
Miss  Bird  had  now  departed  and  the  new  governess  had 
not  yet  arrived,  so  they  were  their  own  mistresses  within 
limits,  and  responsible  for  their  own  tidy  and  punctual 
appearance  at  the  breakfast-table. 

Hannah,  the  schoolroom  maid,  brought  in  their  tea 
and  bread  and  butter  at  eight  o'clock,  drew  up  their 
blinds,  set  out  their  bath  (for  there  were  no  bathrooms 
at  Kencote),  and  then  applied  herself  to  the  task  of 
arousing  them.  "  Now,  Miss  Joan  and  Miss  Nancy," 
she  said  in  a  loud,  confident  voice,  as  if  she  had  only  to 
tell  them  to  get  up  and  they  would  get  up  immediately. 
"  I've  brought  your  'ot  water.  Miss  Joan !  Miss 
Nancy  !  Eight  o'clock !  Time  to  get  up !  Miss  Joan  ! 
Miss  Nancy !  " 

Joan  stirred,  opened  her  eyes,  closed  them  again, 
turned  over  and  I  luried  herself  in  the  bedclothes  again. 
"  Now,  Miss  Joan,"  said  Hannah,  quick  to  pursue  her 
advantage,  "  don't  go  dropping  off  to  sleep  again. 
'Ere's  yer  tea  all  ready  and  yer  'ot  water  gitting  cold. 
Miss  Nancy  !    Time  to  get  up  !  " 

"  Go  away,"  said  Joan  in  a  sleepy  voice.  "  I'm 
awake." 

150 


A   SHOOT  151 

"  Yes,  and  you'll  be  asleep  again  in  a  minute  if  you 
don't  set  up  and  drink  yer  tea.  Now,  Miss  Joan,  you 
don't  want  me  to  stand  'ere  all  the  morning  wasting 
me  time  with  the  whole  'ouse  full  and  me  wanted  to 
'elp." 

"  Then  go  and  'elp,  and  don't  bother,"  replied  Joan 
sleepily. 

"  Miss  Nancy !  "  cried  Hannah.  "  I  know  you  ain't 
asleep.  Set  up  and  drink  yer  tea.  Miss  Nancy !  Lor' ! 
the  trouble  I  'ave  now  Miss  Bird's  gone,  and  only  me 
to  see  that  everything's  right  up  'ere  and  you  ain't  late 
downstairs,  which  you  know  I  should  be  blamed  and  not 
you  if  you  wasn't  down  in  time." 

This  roused  Joan,  who  opened  her  eyes  again  and 
said,  "  It's  nothing  to  do  with  you  whether  we're  late 
or  not.  You're  always  full  of  your  own  importance. 
I'm  quite  awake  now  and  you  can  clear  out,"  and  she 
sat  up  in  bed,  and  took  her  cup  from  the  table  between 
the  two  beds. 

"  Not  till  Miss  Nancy  sets  up  I  won't,"  said  Hannah. 
"  I  know  she's  awake  and  it's  only  contrariness  as  makes 
her  pretend  not  to  be." 

"  Nancy,  do  sit  up  and  let  her  go,"  entreated  Joan, 
"  or  she'll  go  on  jabbering  like  a  monkey  for  hours.  My 
nerves  won't  stand  it  at  this  time  of  the  morning." 

Nancy  sat  up  suddenly  and  reached  for  her  cup. 
"  Depart,  minion !  "  she  commanded. 

"  Now  you  won't  go  to  sleep  again  after  you've  'ad 
yer  tea,"  said  Hannah.  "  I  shall  come  back  in  'alf  an 
hour  to  do  yer  'airs,  and  if  you  ain't  up  and  ready  for 
me,  I  shall  acquaint  Mrs.  Clinton,  for  reelly  the  trouble 
I  'ave  in  this  very  room  every  morning  as  sure  as  the 
sun  rises,  no  young  ladies  as  calls  theirselves  young  la- 
dies wouldn't  be'ave  so." 

"  Parse  that  sentence,"  said  Nancy,  dnd  Hannah, 
with  a  toss  of  the  head,  left  the  room. 

"  Hannah's  getting  above  herself,"  said  Joan.    "  She 


15^  THE    ELDEST    SON 

seems  to  think  now  Starling's  gone  she's  been  promoted 
to  her  place." 

"  We'll  let  her  go  a  little  further,"  said  Nancy, 
"  and  then  we'll  pull  her  off  her  perch.  What's  the 
weather  like.''  Not  raining,  is  it.''  I  say,  we  ought  to 
have  some  fun  to-day,  Joan.  Who  shall  you  stand 
with.?" 

The  Kencote  coverts  were  to  be  shot  over  that  day, 
and  the  twins  were  allowed  to  accompany  the  guns  on 
such  occasions  as  these. 

"  I  don't  know ;  Uncle  Herbert,  I  think.  He's  the 
most  amusing." 

"  Joan,  you  know  quite  well  I  bagged  Uncle  Herbert 
in  the  schoolroom  yesterday,"  said  Nancy. 

"  Did  you.''  I'd  forgotten.  You  can  have  him  in  the 
morning  and  I'll  go  with  him  in  the  afternoon.  I  think 
I  shall  go  with  Bobby  Trench,  and  see  if  he's  as  clever 
as  he  thinks  he  is." 

"  You  can't,  my  dear ;  you're  too  old.  It  would  be 
considered  forward.  Besides,  he's  an  awful  little 
ass." 

"  That's  what  I  wanted  to  convey  to  him.  But  I 
think  I'll  go  with  Humphrey.  He  hasn't  tipped  us  for 
ages,  and  one  of  us  must  attend  to  business." 

"  You  can't  do  that  either.  He'll  want  that  simper- 
ing Lady  Susan.  Joan,  I  believe  there's  more  in  that 
than   meets   the   eye." 

"  Penny,  please,"  said  Joan,  holding  out  her  hand. 
"  You  said  you  would  if  I  caught  you  saying  that 
again." 

"  All  right,  when  I  get  up.  I  forgot.  Why  don't 
you  go  with  George  Senhouse.?  " 

"  He's  too  serious,  and  this  is  a  holiday.  Besides, 
he  doesn't  hit  them.  I  hate  bloodshed,  but  I  like  to  see 
something  done.  I  wish  dear  old  Dick  were  here.  He'd 
bowl  them  over  all  right." 

''  I  wonder,"  said  Nancy,  "  when  all  that  bother  is 


A   SHOOT  153 

going  to  stop.  Dear  papa  will  have  to  give  way  in  the 
end,  you  know.  He  might  just  as  well  do  it  now  and 
save  time." 

"  If  I  were  Dick  I  should  just  marry  her  and  let  him 
make  the  best  of  it.  I  wish  he'd  do  something.  Father 
has  really  been  too  tiresome  for  words  for  the  last 
month.  If  you  and  I  behaved  like  he  does  we  should  be 
sent  to  bed,  and  serve  us  right.  I  wonder  what  hap- 
pened last  night.     I  expect  she  was  at  the  ball." 

"  He  wouldn't  take  any  notice  of  her  if  she  was.  I 
wish  we  could  set  eyes  on  her.  I  should  like  to  see  what 
she's  really  like." 

"  Cicely  says  she's  very  pretty." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  she'd  have  to  be  that  if  Dick  wants 
to  marry  her.  Aren't  men  funny  about  women,  Joan.^ 
Now  I  suppose  you'd  call  that  silly  little  Bobby  Trench 
good-looking,  but  I  should  no  more  want  to  marry  him 
than  the  ugliest  man  in  the  world." 

"  That  isn't  much  of  a  discovery.  You  needn't  have 
lived  very  long  to  find  out  that  women  are  much  more 
sensible  than  men." 

With  this  aphorism  Joan  rose  and  proceeded  to  her 
toilette,  and  Nancy,  after  indulging  in  another  short 
nap,  followed  her  example. 

The  Squire,  refreshed  by  his  night's  slumber,  rose 
determined  to  do  his  duty  by  his  guests  and  put  from 
him  for  the  day  all  thoughts  of  Lady  George  Dubec 
and,  what  was  more  difficult,  of  his  son  Dick.  Mrs. 
Clinton,  when  she  had  returned  from  the  ball,  very  late, 
had  found  him  in  a  deep  sleep  in  the  great  canopied  bed 
which  she  had  shared  with  him  for  so  many  years.  He 
had  not  awakened  during  her  long  muffled  process  of 
undressing,  nor  when  she  slipped,  careful  to  make  no 
noise  and  as  little  movement  as  possible,  into  bed  by 
his  side.  But  before  she  slept  he  had  turned  over  and, 
half  asleep  still,  murmured,  "  Good-night,  Nina.  God 
bless  you."     It  had  been  his  nightly  farewell  of  her  for 


154  THE    ELDEST    SON 

nearly  forty  years,  uttered  often  with  no  special  mean- 
iner,  sometimes  even  without  interval  at  the  end  of  some 
unreasonable  expression  of  annoyance.  But  last  night 
the  words  had  come  softly  and  affectionately,  as  if,  re- 
turning for  a  moment  from  the  pleasant  land  of  oblivion, 
where  he  had  been  wandering  and  to  which  he  was  im- 
mediately returning,  he  had  been  glad  to  find  her  wait- 
ing for  him,  his  close  companion,  valued  above  others. 
She  had  put  her  hand  softly  on  to  his,  and  lain  for  a 
long  time,  in  the  deep  silence  of  the  night,  in  that  light 
contact. 

The  common  life  of  the  household  at  Kencote  began 
with  family  prayers  at  a  quarter-past  nine,  at  which, 
on  this  Saturday  morning.  Lady  Aldeburgh  and  her 
daughter.  Sir  Herbert  Birkett,  Bobby  Trench,  and 
Humphrey  failed  to  put  in  an  appearance.  The  Judge 
had  been  up  at  seven,  reading  in  his  bedroom,  and  ap- 
peared with  the  breakfast  dishes,  but  Humphrey  did  not 
arrive  until  five  minutes  later,  and  the  presence  of  guests 
did  not  avert  from  him  the  invariable  rebuke  of  unpunc- 
tuality.  "  I  wish  you'd  manage  to  get  up  in  decent  time 
when  you're  here,"  said  the  Squire.  "  Where's  young 
Trench?" 

"  In  his  bedroom,  I  suppose,"  replied  Humphrey 
coolly,  inspecting  the  dishes  on  the  side-table. 

The  Squire  said  nothing  further,  but  when  he,  with 
most  of  the  party,  was  leaving  the  room  half  an  hour 
later,  and  met  Bobby  Trench,  to  w^hom  the  morning 
light  had  apparently  brought  a  renewal  of  self-content, 
entering  it,  he  greeted  him  with  an  earnest  enquiry  after 
his  health. 

"  Oh,  I'm  as  bobbish  as  possible,  thank  you,"  replied 
Bobby  Trench  brightly. 

"  I'm  glad  of  that,"  said  the  Squire,  passing  on. 
"  I  thought  as  you  didn't  come  down  at  the  proper  time 
you  must  have  been  feeling  poorly." 

Bobby  Trench  stared  at  his  broad  retreating  back  in 


A    SHOOT  155 

amazement.  "  Lor' !  What  a  house  !  "  was  his  inward 
exclamation,  as  he  went  on  into  the  dining-room. 

Humphrey,  who  was  dcHberate  in  his  meals,  was  still 
at  the  table,  and  Joan  was  leaning  on  the  back  of  his 
chair.  She  was  making  some  suggestion  as  to  pecuniary 
profit  to  herself  and  Nancy  from  the  day's  sport,  which 
yet  should  not  amount  to  a  bet. 

"  Hullo,  old  man  !  "  said  Humphrey.  "  Joan,  ring 
the  bell.     Everything  must  be  cold  by  this  time." 

Joan  hesitated.  Such  a  proceeding  was  unheard  of 
at  Kencote,  where,  if  people  came  down  late  for  break- 
fast, they  must  expect  it  to  be  cold.  But  Bobby  Trench 
politely  anticipated  her.  "  Don't  you  trouble.  Miss 
Joan,"  he  said,  going  to  the  bell  himself.  "  I  say,  are 
you  going  to  stand  with  me  to-day  and  see  me 
shoot.?" 

If  Nancy  had  been  there  to  support  her  she  would 
have  asked  innocently,  "  Can  you  shoot  ?  "  for  although 
she  liked  being  addressed  as  "  Miss  Joan,"  she  did  not 
like  Bobby  Trench's  free  and  easy  air.  But  maiden 
modesty  replied  for  her,  "  I  think  I'm  going  with  Hum- 
phrey." 

"  She  wants  me  to  give  her  a  shilling  for  every  bird 
I  miss,  and  she'll  give  me  sixpence  for  every  one  I  knock 
over.     How  does  that  strike  you  for  a  soft  thing  .^^  " 

A  footman  came  in  at  that  moment,  and  looked  sur- 
prised at  the  order  that  was  given  him. 

"  Do  you  want  heverythink  cooked,  sir,  or  only  some 
fresh  tea.''  "  he  asked,  with  a  glance  at  the  table  where 
the  lamps  were  still  sizzling  under  the  hot  dishes. 

"  We  live  a  life  of  rigid  punctuality  in  this  house," 
Humphrey  apologised,  when  he  had  retired  with  his 
order.  "  They  don't  understand  renewing  the  sup- 
plies." 

"  Sorry  to  give  so  much  trouble,"  replied  Bobby 
Trench,  "  but  I'm  pretty  peckish,  to  tell  you  the  truth. 
Dancing  always   gives   me   a   twist.      Look  here,  Miss 


156  THE    ELDEST   SON 

Joan,  I'll  bet  you  half  a  dozen  pair  of  gloves  I  kill  more 
birds  than  Humphrey." 

"  Take  him,  Joan ;  it's  a  certainty,"  said  Humphrey. 

Joan  was  secretly  enchanted  at  being  treated  as  of 
a  glovable  age,  but  she  answered  primly,  "  Thank  you, 
Mr.  Trench,  I'm  not  allowed  to  bet." 

"  Oh,  ho  !  "  j  eered  Humphrey.  "  What  about  that 
shilling  you  and  Nancy  got  from  me?  " 

*'  Dick  said  we  ought  not  to  have  done  it,  and  we 
weren't  to  do  it  any  more,"  said  Joan. 

Humphrey  was  silent.  Bobby  Trench,  who  was  good- 
natured  enough  to  take  pleasure  in  the  innocent  con- 
versation of  extreme  feminine  youth,  especially  when  it 
was  allied  to  beauty,  as  in  the  case  of  the  twins,  said, 
"  Well,  of  course,  you  must  always  do  what  you're  told, 
mustn't  you?  But  I'll  tell  you  what,  we  won't  call 
it  a  bet,  but  if  I  don't  kill  more  birds  than  Humphrey 
I'll  give  you  six  pairs  of  gloves — see  ?  Only  you'll  have 
to  stand  by  me  half  the  time  and  him  half  the  time,  to 
count." 

"  Oh,  she  doesn't  want  gloves,"  said  Humphrey,  with 
some  approach  to  his  father's  manner.  "  Cut  along 
upstairs,  Joan,  or  you'll  have  Miss  Bird  after  you." 

"  Miss  Bird  has  departed,"  said  Joan,  but  she  went 
out  of  the  room,  somewhat  relieved  at  the  conclusion 
of  what  might  have  developed  into  an  embarrassing 
episode. 

At  half-past  ten  the  big  shooting-brake  appeared  at 
the  door,  and  the  whole  party,  men  and  women,  got 
into  it,  with  the  exception  of  Mrs.  Clinton,  and  Lady 
Aldeburgh  and  her  daughter,  who  had  not  yet  made 
an  appearance.  The  Squire  had  been  extremely  an- 
noyed at  this.  "  She's  as  strong  as  a  horse,"  he  had 
said  of  his  kinsman's  wife,  "  and  when  she  stays  in 
other  people's  houses  she  ought  to  keep  their  hours. 
And  as  for  the  girl,  if  she  can't  get  up  to  breakfast 
after  a  ball,  she  oughtn't  to  go  to  balls.     I'll  tell  you 


A    SHOOT  '  157 

what,  Nina,  I'm  hanged  if  I'm  going  to  keep  the  whole 
party  waiting  for  them.  We  start  at  half-past  ten 
sharp,  and  if  you  can't  rout  'em  out  by  then,  you  must 
wait  and  bring  'em  on  afterwards  in  the  carriage." 

Mrs.  Chnton  had  not  felt  equal  to  the  task  of  routing 
out  her  guests,  and  the  brake  liad  driven  off,  within  three 
minutes  of  the  half-hour,  without  them. 

It  was  a  deliciously  mild  morning.  The  sun,  shining 
palely  in  a  sky  of  misty  blue,  gave  it  an  illusive  air  of 
spring;  blackbirds  whistled  in  the  copses;  the  maze  of 
tree-twigs  in  distant  woods  showed  purple  against  the 
wet  green  of  the  meadows ;  the  air  was  virginally  fresh, 
and  had  the  fragrance  of  rich  moist  earth  and  a  hint 
of  wood  smoke.  Brown  beech  leaves  still  clung  to  the 
hedges  on  either  side  of  the  deep  muddy  country  lanes, 
and  blackberries,  saturated  with  dew,  on  the  brambles. 

Servants  and  dogs  and  guns  had  been  sent  on  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour  before.  The  Squire,  on  these  important 
occasions,  when  he  took  the  cream  of  his  preserves  and 
began  at  an  outlying  wood,  to  finish  up  just  before 
dark  with  the  home  coverts,  liked  to  drive  up  to  the 
place  appointed  and  find  everything  ready  for  an  im- 
mediate start.  Beaters  must  be  in  place  ready  for  the 
whistle  on  the  instant.  Guns  must  be  posted  for  the 
first  drive  with  no  delay  whatever.  There  was  a  lot  to 
get  through  before  dusk,  and  no  time  must  be  wasted. 
If  those  who  were  asked  to  shoot  at  Kencote  on  the  big 
days  did  their  parts,  he — and  Dick — and  the  keepers 
would  do  theirs  and  show  them  as  pretty  a  succession 
of  drives,  with  an  occasional  walk  over  stubble  or  a  field 
of  roots  to  vary  the  proceedings,  as  they  would  get 
anywhere  in  England.  Only  there  must  be  no  dawdling, 
and  the  women  who  were  permitted  to  look  on  must 
subordinate  their  uncontrolled  natures  to  the  business 
in  hand. 

All  the  arrangements  necessary  to  make  the  machin- 
ery run  without  a  hitch,  so  that  none  of  the  full  day's 


158  THE    ELDEST   SON 

programme  should  be  hurried,  meant  a  great  deal  of 
preliminary  consultation  and  adjustment.     Bunch,  the 
head-keeper,  admirable  in  his  capacity  for  generalling 
his  little  army  of  beaters  and  for  faithfully  carrying 
out  instructions,  had  no  initiative  of  his  own,  and  the 
Squire  had  always  relied  upon  Dick — and  relied  on  him 
much  more  than  he  knew — for  arranging  the  plan  of 
campaign.     This  time  he  had  had  to  do  it  alone,  with 
much    consequent    irritation    to    himself   and   bewilder- 
ment   and    head-scratching    to    honest,    velveteen-clad 
Bunch.      And  he   had   relied   on   Dick's   coolness — also 
much  more  than  he  knew — to  get  the  guns  posted  ex- 
peditiously and  with  as  little  friction  of  talk  and  en- 
quiry as  possible.     To-day  he  would  have  to  rely  on 
Humphrey  to  help  him,  and  Humphrey  was  as  yet  un- 
tried in   this   capacity.      He  was   anxious   and  worried 
as  he  drove,   sitting  on   the  high  box-seat  beside  his 
coachman,  and  itching  to  handle  his  horses  himself  as 
he  always  did  except  on  shooting  days,  when  he  wanted 
to  save  his  hands.    Usually  he  sat  behind,  but  this  morn- 
ing he  felt  he  could  not  take  his  part  in  the  talk  and 
laughter  that  went  on  in  the  body  of  the  brake.     He 
was  not  at  all  sure  how  the  day  would  turn  out.    There 
were  several  points  at  which  a  hitch  might  occur.     Fol- 
lowing a  light  suggestion  of  Dick's,  he  had  arranged  to 
take  High  Beech   Wood  the  opposite  way  to  that  in 
which  it  had   always  been   taken,   and  he  w^as   not  at 
all  sure  that   Bunch  had  fully  understood  his  testily 
given  instructions — or,  indeed,  that  he  fully  understood 
them  himself.     Nor  was  he  quite  certain  of  his  guns, 
and  he  wanted  to  kill  a  respectable  head  of  game.    The 
two   local   notabihties   whom   he  had   invited,   old   Mr. 
Wilkinson,  of  Birfield,  and  Colonel  Stacey,  who  lived 
in  a  villa  in  Bathgate,  and  shot  steadily  through  the 
season  within  a  radius  of  forty  miles,  he  could  rely  on. 
Humphrey  was  a  good  shot,  though  not  so  good  as 
Dick.     Sir  Herbert  Birkett  was  surprisingly  good,  for 


A   SHOOT  159 

a  Londoner,  on  his  day,  but  when  it  wasn't  his  day  he 
was  surprisingly  bad,  and  didn't  even  care  enough  about 
it  to  make  the  usual  lamentations.  George  Senhouse 
enjoyed  it  thoroughly,  but  never  touched  a  feather. 
Hammond-Watt  and  Bobby  Trench  he  knew  nothing 
whatever  about,  but  it  was  unlikely  that  either  of  them 
would  turn  out  above  the  average.  He  could  only  hope 
that  they  would  not  turn  out  very  much  worse.  At  any 
rate,  at  the  best,  it  was  not  a  team  that  could  be  ex- 
pected to  create  a  record  in  the  Kencote  preserves,  and 
at  the  worst  might  bring  disgrace  on  them. 

He  could  not  help  thinking  of  these  things  and  wor- 
rying about  them.  If  Dick  had  been  there  he  would 
have  calmed  those  uneasy  tremors.  He  would  have  told 
him  that  the  birds  would  show  up  well,  even  if  the  guns 
didn't,  that  the  experts  were  at  least  equal  to  the  duf- 
fers and  the  doubtfuls,  putting  everything  in  a  hopeful 
light,  not  anticipating  any  possible  hitch,  but  quite 
ready  to  deal  with  it  if  it  should  come.  Dick  never  lost 
sight  of  the  fact  that  they  were  out  for  a  day's  sport; 
the  Squire  fussed  and  worried  so  about  trifles  that  all 
such  sense  of  pleasure  was  apt  to  leave  him.  He  had 
an  uneasy,  half-defined  feeling  that  his  temperament 
caused  him  to  err  in  this  way,  and  It  made  him  want 
Dick,  who  could  relieve  him  of  the  weight  of  small 
anxieties,  all  the  more.  He  was  learning  how  much 
he  had  been  wont  to  depend  on  his  son.  One  of  the 
impulses  of  appeal  and  affection,  which  continually 
shot  across  the  stiff  web  of  his  obstinate  determination, 
came  to  him  now,  and  If  Dick  could  have  appeared  at 
that  moment  he  would  have  welcomed  him  with  open 
arms,  and  given  way  in  everything.  But  Dick  was 
away,  he  did  not  know  where,  and  with  a  sigh  he  re- 
signed himself  to  the  prospect  of  a  day  of  anxiety. 

They  came  to  an  open  gate  by  the  roadside  and  drove 
in  through  a  strip  of  wood  until  they  came  to  an  open 
space  in  front  of  a  keeper's  cottage.     It  stood,  backed 


160  THE    ELDEST    SON 

by  trees,  facing  a  wide  sloping  meadow,  which  was 
completely  surrounded  by  a  wood  of  oak  and  beech, 
intermixed  with  spruce  and  some  firs.  The  little  group 
of  loaders  with  their  masters'  guns  and  cartridge-bags 
stood  ready  by  the  palings,  the  glossy  coated  retrievers 
waved  welcoming  tails  as  the  brake  drove  up,  the  hoof- 
beats  of  the  horses  muffled  on  the  thick  grass.  The 
beaters  were  already  in  line  at  the  other  end  of  the 
wood,  far  out  of  sight,  waiting  for  Bunch's  signal. 
There  was  nothing  to  do  but  place  the  guns  and  pre- 
pare for  the  stream  of  pheasants  which  would  presently 
begin  to  fly  over  them.  Except  that  neither  Mr. 
Wilkinson  nor  Colonel  Stacey  had  yet  arrived. 

It  was  the  first  check  to  the  prompt  orderly  pro- 
ceedings of  the  day.  The  Squire,  taking  his  gun  from 
the  hands  of  an  under-keeper  and  filling  the  pockets  of 
his  wide  shooting- jacket  with  cartridges,  gave  vent  to 
a  forcible  expression  of  irritation.  "  Now  there  we  are, 
held  back  at  the  very  start ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  'Pon 
my  word,  it's  too  bad  of  those  fellows.  I  told  'em 
eleven  o'clock  sharp,  and  they've  shot  here  dozens  of 
times  before  and  know  the  place  as  well  as  I  do." 

"  It's  only  just  five  minutes  to  eleven,"  said  Hum- 
phrey, and  as  he  spoke  Mr.  Wilkinson's  dog-cart  drove 
in  from  the  wood,  bringing  himself  and  Colonel  Stacey, 
all  ready  for  immediate  business.  Before  eleven  o'clock 
struck  from  the  cuckoo-clock  in  the  keeper's  kitchen  the 
whole  party  w^as  walking  down  the  meadow  to  line  the 
borders  of  the  wood  and  do  what  execution  they  might. 

Humphrey  showed  himself  efficient  in  translating  the 
Squire's  intentions  as  to  the  placing  of  the  guns,  from 
the  notes  he  had  jotted  down  on  a  sheet  of  letter  paper. 
He  knew  that  inextricable  confusion  would  arise  later 
if  those  notes  were  to  be  followed  literally,  but  trusted 
to  be  able  to  arrange  things  by  word  of  mouth  when 
the  time  came,  as  most  people  were  content  to  do. 

So  they  stood  and  waited.     From  the  keeper's  cpt- 


A    SHOOT  161 

tagc  up  the  hill  you  could  have  seen  the  eight  little 
groups,  standing  expectantly  on  the  grass  at  a  short 
distance  from  the  wood,  following  the  curve  of  its  line. 
Behind  each  stood  a  gaitered  loader  with  another  gun 
ready  to  hand  to  his  master.  The  women,  in  clothes 
not  distinguishable  in  colour  from  those  of  the  men, 
stood  with  them ;  the  dogs  squatted  by  the  side  of  their 
masters  or  tugged  at  leashes  held  by  the  men.  Black- 
birds popped  in  and  out  of  the  wood,  and  thrushes, 
but  there  were  few  sounds  of  life.  There  was  a  hush 
of  expectancy,  and  otherwise  only  the  deep  winter  still- 
ness of  nature,  and  the  pale  sun,  and  the  wet  odour  of 
the  soil. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE    GUNS    AND    THE    LADIES 

Nancy  stood  with  her  uncle,  as  she  had  announced  her 
intention  of  doing.  Sir  Herbert,  in  a  Norfolk  jacket 
of  voluminous  tweed  and  a  green  Tyrolean  hat,  would 
hardly  have  been  recognised  by  those  who  had  only  seen 
him  in  his  Judge's  robes.  He  asked  Nancy  as  they  were 
waiting  whether  she  thought  he  was  properly  attired. 
"  I  like  to  do  the  thing  thoroughly  while  I'm  about  it," 
he  said.  "  I  notice  that  nobody  but  myself  is  wearing 
these  buttoned  things — spats  I  think  they  call  them. 
I  think  you  might  have  written,  Nancy,  to  tell  me  they 
had  gone  out  of  fashion.  Do  you  think  I  could  take 
them  off  and  throw  them  away  presently  ?  I  don't  know 
what  good  they  are.  It  is  only  a  passion  for  being 
correctly  dressed  that  induced  me  to  put  them  on." 

"  I  think  they  look  very  nice,"  said  Nancy.  "  And  as 
for  your  hat,  Uncle  Herbert,  I'm  sure  it's  the  very  latest 
thing,  because  Humphrey  has  got  one  just  like  it.  But 
it  wants  a  woodcock's  feather  in  it." 

"Oh,  does  it?  Thank  you  for  telling  me.  I  shall 
direct  my  attention  to-day  to  shooting  a  woodcock  if 
one  turns  up,  and  robbing  him  of  his  feather.  It  is  very 
unpleasant  and  takes  away  your  conceit  of  yourself  not 
to  have  everything  exactly  right.  With  your  intelli- 
gence you  no  doubt  understand  that." 

"  Joan  understands  it  better  than  I  do,"  replied 
Nancy.  "  She  likes  to  be  well  dressed.  I  don't  care 
about  it  one  way  or  the  other." 

"  Ah !  but  that's  such  a  mistake,"  said  Sir  Herbert, 
"  especially  for  a  female,  if  I  may  call  you  so.  When 
your  body  is  well  dressed  your  mind  is  well  dressed. 
You  should  look  into  that." 

i63 


THE    GUNS   AND    THE    LADIES      16S 

"  I  have,"  said  Nancy.  "  It's  all  a  question  of  but- 
tons." 

What  she  meant  by  this  aphorism  did  not  appear,  for 
a  shot  from  the  right  of  the  line  made  Sir  Herbert 
spring  to  attention,  and  immediately  after,  with  a  sud- 
den whir,  a  high  pheasant  shot  like  a  bullet  over  his 
head,  and  flying  straight  into  the  charge  from  his  gun, 
turned  over  in  the  air  and  fell  with  a  thud  on  the  grass 
far  behind  him. 

"  Glorious !  "  exclaimed  the  Judge.  "  I'm  in  form." 
But  although  he  fired  many  barrels  during  the  next 
few  minutes,  in  which  a  hot  fusillade  was  going  on  on 
the  right  and  on  the  left,  and  birds  were  falling,  clean 
shot,  or  sliding  to  the  ground  with  wings  outspread, 
or  continuing  their  swift  flight  unshaken,  he  brought 
only  one  down,  with  a  broken  wing,  which  ran  off  into 
the  shaugh  at  the  top  of  the  hill. 

"  Now  that  is  most  disappointing,"  he  said,  when 
the  tap-tap  of  the  beaters'  sticks  could  be  heard,  and 
they  began  to  emerge  from  the  wood  one  by  one.  "  I 
really  did  think  I  was  going  to  shoot  well  to-day.  Life 
is  full  of  such  delusive  hopes." 

"  I'm  glad  you  didn't  shoot  too  many,"  said  Nancy. 
"  They're  such  pretty  things,  and  I  like  to  see  them 
get  away." 

"  So  do  I,  in  theory,"  said  Sir  Herbert.  "  In  prac- 
tice, no.  Do  you  think  it  is  the  lust  for  killing,  as  some 
people  say.^  " 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Nancy.  "  I  have  thought  about  that. 
If  it  were,  I  shouldn't  want  to  come  out.  It  is  the 
skiU." 

"  I  think  you're  right,  Nancy.  That,  and  what  re- 
mains of  the  primitive  instinct  of  the  chase.  You  had 
to  kill  your  food,  and  you  kept  your  health  by  doing 
so.     You  killed  two  birds  with  one  stone." 

"  And  now  you  don't  even  kill  one  bird  with  two 
barrels,"  said  Nancy,  with  a  side-glance  at  his  eye. 


164.  THE    ELDEST    SON 

He  met  her  mischievous  gaze.  "  Nancy,"  he  said, 
"  if  you  had  said  that  on  the  bench  they  would 
have  put  it  in  the  papers — with  headlines ;  as  it 
is,  I've  a  good  mind  to  commit  you  for  contempt  of 
court." 

The  divided  groups  began  to  congregate.  The 
Squire  came  round  the  corner  very  well  pleased  with 
himself.  In  spite  of  his  preoccupation  he  had  shot  quite 
up  to  his  form.  And  his  good-humour  was  confirmed 
by  the  discovery  that  Hammond- Watt  could  be  classed 
as  a  doubtful  no  longer,  for  he  had  killed  more  birds 
than  anybody,  and  killed  them  clean,  and  that  Bobby 
Trench  had  also  given  a  fair  account  of  himself.  The 
^ay  had  begun  well,  and, the  fact  that  Sir  Herbert  had 
only  shot  two  pheasants,  one  of  which  had  got  away, 
and  George  Senhouse  had  shot  none,  although,  as  is  the 
unaccountable  way  of  driven  birds,  they  had  come  over 
him  more  thickly  than  over  any  one  else,  did  not  avail 
to  dash  his  satisfaction.  He  led  the  way  to  the  next 
stand,  down  a  woodland  ride,  in  high  good-humour, 
walking  with  great  strides,  which  Lady  Birkett,  who 
accompanied  him,  found  some  difficulty  in  keeping  up 
with.  "  I  hope  Herbert  will  pick  up,"  he  said,  laughing 
good-humoredly  at  his  brother-in-law's  misfortune. 
"  Now  I'm  never  very  much  away  from  my  form,  either 
above  or  below.  Funny  thing — form !  Even  when  I'm 
worried  to  death  about  things  it  don't  seem  to  make 
much  difference  to  my  eye." 

But  when  the  next  drive  was  over,  and  he  had  only 
shot  two  pheasants,  neither  of  them  clean,  and  a  rab- 
bit, he  said,  "  It's  all  this  infernal  worry.  No  man  on 
earth,  I  don't  care  who  he  is,  can  shoot  straight  if 
he's  got  something  weighing  on  his  mind." 

Lady  Birkett  was  consolatory.  "  My  dear  Edward, 
don't  think  about  it,"  she  said.  "  It  will  all  come 
right."' 

"  I  wish  I  thought  so,"  said  the  Squire.     "  I  think 


THE    GUNS   AND    THE    LADIES      165 

if  I  had  that  woman  here  I'd  put  a  charge  of  shot  into 
her." 

During  the  course  of  the  morning  the  twins  came 
together  to  compare  notes.  "  Humphrey  is  shooting 
quite  well,"  said  Joan,  "  but,  all  the  same,  if  he  had 
fallen  in  with  my  suggestion  we  should  have  scooped 
twenty-four  shillings.  I  reckon  it  up  after  every  drive 
and  tell  him  the  result.  I  am  hoping  that  he  will  be 
so  pleased  with  himself  that  he  will  offer  to  settle  up 
at  the  end  of  the  day  of  his  own  accord." 

"  Don't  make  it  too  much,"  advised  Nancy.  "  Ten 
shillings  in  our  pockets  are  better  than  twenty  in  his." 

"  Bobby  Trench  offered  to  take  over  the  arrange- 
ment," said  Joan. 

Nancy  threw  back  her  fair  hair.  "  It's  a  pity  to 
waste  an  opportunity,"  she  said,  "  but  of  course  you 
can't  accept  a  tip  from  him." 

"  My  dear,  as  if  I  would !  "  exclaimed  Joan.  "  But 
he's  very  pushing.  It's  difficult  to  keep  him  at  a  dis- 
tance. I  think  I  shall  go  and  stand  with  Mr.  Wilkin- 
son. He's  a  dear  old  thing,  and  I  think  he'd  be 
flattered." 

"  Oh,  don't  forsake  Humphrey,  for  goodness'  sake, 
if  he's  in  a  good  temper,"  advised  Nancy. 

"  Well,  Bobby  Trench  is  such  a  nuisance.  He  comes 
over  and  talks  to  us  while  we're  waiting." 

"  If  you  stick  on  till  lunch-time  I'll  change  with  you 
after.  Uncle  Herbert  is  shooting  very  badly,  but  he's 
full  of  conversation.  And  I  didn't  tell  you — he  asked 
after  the  camera  fund.  I  don't  know  who  can  have 
told  him — Dick,  I  suppose.  Dear  old  Dick;  I  wish  he 
was  here !  " 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Joan.  "  Did  Uncle  Herbert  show 
any  signs  of  contributing. '^  " 

"  I  expect  he  will.  But  I  didn't  want  to  appear  too 
mercenary;  I  skilfully  changed  the  subject." 

"  That  ought  to  do  the  trick,"  observed  Joan.     "  I 


166  THE   ELDEST   SON 

don't  mind  a  bit  taking  it  from  relations.  They  ought 
to  be  encouraged  to  do  their  duty." 

"  All  old  people  ought  to  tip  all  young  ones,"  said 
Nancy  largely.  "  You  might  convey  that  truth  deh- 
cately  to  Mr.  Wilkinson." 

"  I  might,  but  I'm  not  going  to." 

"Or  Colonel  Stacey.     Why  not  try  him?     He's  old 

enough." 

"  You  can  do  your  own  dirty  work,"  said  Joan,  pre- 
paring to  leave  her.  "  Colonel  Stacey  is  very  poor. 
He  hves  in  a  tiny  little  house.  I  shall  sit  next  to  him 
at  luncheon,  and  see  that  he  gets  a  jolly  good  one." 

The   Squire   shot  worse  and   worse   as   the   morning 
went   on,   and  through   over-anxiety   and  confused   in- 
structions  the  birds  were  not  driven  properly  out  of 
High  Beech  Wood,  which  ought  to  have  afforded  the 
best  drive   of  the   day.      They   streamed   away   to   the 
right  of  where  the  Squire  was  standing,  where  there 
was  neither  a  gun  nor  a  stop,  or  went  back  over  the 
heads  of  the  keepers.     Humphrey  had  suggested  plac- 
ing a  gun  where  those  that  were  got  out  of  the  wood 
eventually  came  over,  and  because  he  had  pooh-poohed 
the  suggestion  the  Squire  was  furious  with  him.     Dick 
would  have  put  a  gun  there  without  asking  him.     But 
Humphrey   now   could  do   nothing   right.      After  this 
fiasco   he    suggested   sending   to   the   keeper's    cottage, 
where  luncheon  was  to  be  served,  to  tell  them  to  set 
the  tables  outside.     There  was  a  warm  grove  of  beeches 
at  the  back  of  it,  where  they  sometimes  did  lunch  earlier 
in  the  season,  and  to-day  it  was  fine  and  sunny  enough 
to  have  made  it  more  pleasant  to  sit  in  the  open  than 
in  a  crowded  room  in  a  cottage.     But  the  Squire  said, 
"  For  God's  sake,  don't  be  altering  arrangements  now, 
and  throwing  everything  out,"  so  Humphrey  had  re- 
tired  and  told  Bobby  Trench   that   his   governor  was 
like  a  bear  with  a  sore  head. 

"  I  thought  he  seemed  rather  passionate,"  said  Bobby 


THE    GUNS   AND    THE    LADIES      167 

Trench  pleasantly.    "  Not  pulling  'cm  down,  I  suppose. 
It  does  put  you  out,  you  know." 

"  He'd  better  manage  for  himself,"  said  Humphrey 
sulkily.     "  If  he  likes  to  make  a  mess  of  it,  let  him." 

Joan,  who  was  with  them,  grew  red  at  this  dis- 
cussion. "  Father  has  had  a  lot  of  worries,"  she  said. 
"  I  think  you  ought  to  help  him  all  you  can,  Hum- 
phrey." 

Humphrey  stared  at  her,  and  Bobby  Trench  said, 
"  Bravo,  Miss  Joan,  you  stick  up  for  your  own." 

"  I'm  going  to,"  said  Joan,  and  turned  back  to  join 
Beatrice  Senhouse,  who  was  just  behind  them.  At  the 
next  stand,  the  last  of  the  morning,  she  went  up  to  her 
father  and  said,  "  I'm  going  to  count  your  birds,  daddy, 
and  I'll  give  you  a  kiss  for  every  one  you  let  off." 

The  Squire's  worried  face  brightened.  "  I  thought 
you'd  forsaken  your  poor  old  father,"  he  said.  "  Well, 
I'm  letting  plenty  of  them  off,  but  we'll  see  what  we 
can  do  this  time." 

Whether  encouraged  or  not  by  his  prospective  re- 
ward, he  acquitted  himself  well  during  the  ensuing 
drive,  in  the  course  of  which  he  got  two  high  birds  with 
a  right  and  left,  and  another  one  going  away  with  a 
quick  change  of  guns ;  and  when  the  drive  was  over  he 
handed  his  gun  to  his  loader,  and  put  his  hand  on  Joan's 
shoulder  to  walk  towards  the  cottage,  with  a  face  all 
smiles. 

Mrs.  Clinton,  with  Lady  Aldeburgh  and  her  daugh- 
ter, met  them  at  the  garden  gate.  "  I  have  told  them 
to  put  the  table  outside,"  she  said,  as  they  came  up,  and 
the  Squire  said,  "  Capital  idea,  Nina,  capital  idea !  " 
and  turning  to  Lady  Aldeburgh  twitted  her  on  her 
late  appearance.  "  You've  missed  some  good  sport," 
he  said.  "  But  we'll  see  what  we  can  show  you  this 
afternoon." 

Lady  Aldeburgh,  in  a  costume  of  Lincoln  green  with 
a  short  skirt  bound  in  brown  leather,  looked  younger 


168  THE    ELDEST   SON 

than  her  own  daughter,  and  felt  no  older  than  a  child. 
"  Oh,  do  let  me  stand  by  you,  Mr.  Clinton,  and  see  you 
shoot,"  she  said,  clasping  her  hands  appealingly.  "  I'll 
promise  not  to  chatter." 

"  That  woman's  a  fool,"  said  Joan,  who  had  with- 
drawn from  the  group  to  join  Nancy. 

She  sat  next  to  Colonel  Stacey  at  luncheon,  as  she 
had  undertaken  to  do,  and  was  assiduous  in  attending  to 
his  bodily  wants.  He  w^as  of  the  skeleton-like,  big- 
moustached  order  of  retired  warrior,  and  looked  very 
much  as  if  he  suffered  from  a  lack  of  nutriment,  al- 
though as  a  matter  of  fact  he  was  accustomed  to  "  do 
himself  "  remarkably  well,  shirking  nothing  in  the  way 
of  food  and  drink  that  other  men  of  his  age  were  apt 
to  look  askance  at.  He  made  an  extremely  good  meal, 
and  Joan  took  credit  to  herself  for  his  doing  so,  al- 
though he  did  not  repay  her  attentions  with  much 
notice,  being  well  able  to  forage  for  himself.  Mr.  Wil- 
kinson, who  sat  on  her  other  side,  was  far  more  com- 
municative and  friendly,  in  a  sort  of  pleasant,  grand- 
fatherly  way ;  and  as  the  three  of  them  were  standing 
together  when  luncheon  was  over,  he  took  half  a  sov- 
ereign out  of  his  pocket  and  said,  "  Now  if  I  know  any- 
thing of  young  women  of  your  age,  and  I  ought  to  by 
this  time,  I  dare  say  you  and  Nancy  will  find  some  use 
for  that." 

Joan  accepted  it  with  gratitude.  Her  mind  was  at 
ease;  she  had  not  worked  for  it  in  any  way.  It  was  a 
most  acceptable  windfall.  "  Oh,  thank  you  so  much, 
Mr.  Wilkinson,"  she  said.  "  Now  we  shall  be  able  to 
buy  our  camera.  We  have  been  saving  up  for  it  for 
a  long  time." 

"  That's  capital,"  said  old  Mr.  Wilkinson,  patting 
her  on  the  shoulder  and  moving  off. 

Colonel  Stacey,  now  that  he  had  satisfied  the  claims 
of  appetite,  liad  some  attention  to  spare  for  his  late 
neighbour,  who  was  really  a  very  nice-mannered  child, 


THE    GUNS   AND    THE   LADIES      169 

and  not  greedy  as  most  children  are,  but  well-behaved 
towards  her  elders.  He  in  his  turn  pulled  out  a  well- 
worn  leather  purse  and  extracted  half  a  sovereign  from 
it.  Joan,  seeing  what  was  coming,  had  a  moment  of 
panic,  and  turned  quickly  away.  But  he  stopped  her 
and  said,  "  There,  take  that ;  that  makes  one  for  each 
of  you." 

Joan's  face  was  scarlet.  "  Oh,  thanks  most  awfully," 
she  said  hurriedly.  "  But  we've  got  quite  enough  now," 
and  then  she  fairly  ran  away,  leaving  Colonel  Stacey, 
surprised  at  the  curious  ways  of  young  girls,  to  put 
his  half-sovereign  philosophically  back  into  his  purse. 

Lady  Aldeburgh  accompanied  the  Squire  during  most 
of  the  afternoon,  and  by  a  judicious  use  of  flattery  and 
girlish  charm  kept  him  in  so  good  a  humour  with  him- 
self that  he  shot  much  better  than  in  the  morning,  and 
fussed  considerably  less  over  details  of  arrangement 
than  he  would  otherwise  have  done. 

He  could  not  have  told  how  it  came  to  pass,  although 
Lady  Aldeburgh  might  have  been  able  to  enlighten  him, 
that  as  they  were  walking  together  down  a  muddy  coun- 
try lane,  with  the  rest  of  the  party  straggling  after 
them,  he  poured  into  her  sympathetic  ear  the  story  of 
what  he  was  now  accustomed  to  call  Dick's  entangle- 
ment. 

Lady  Aldeburgh  bounded  mentally  over  five-and- 
twenty  or  thirty  years  and  became  matronly,  even 
maternal. 

"  I  have  heard  something  about  it,  dear  Mr.  Clin- 
ton," she  said,  "  and  have  been  longing  to  tell  you  how 
much  I  sympathised  with  you.  But  I  hardly  liked  to 
until  you  had  spoken  first.  Of  course  one's  children 
do  give  one  trouble  in  many  ways,  and  an  old  married 
woman  like  myself  who  has  had  a  long  experience  can 
often  help,  with  sympathy  if  not  with  advice.  So  I 
am  very  glad  you  have  told  me." 

The  Squire  found  this  attitude  right,  and  soothing 


170  THE    ELDEST    SON 

besides.  "  Well,  of  course,  it's  an  impossible  idea,"  he 
said.  "  I  shan't  give  in  about  it.  Have  you  seen  this 
woman,  by  the  by?  " 

"  I  saw  her  last  night,"  said  Lady  Aldeburgh,  "  and 
of  course  I've  heard  of  her.  She  is  not  the  sort  of 
woman  that  I  should  care  for  a  son  of  mine  to  marry. 
She  seemed  to  me  an  affected,  underbred  minx." 

"  You  thought  that,  did  you.'*  "  exclaimed  the  Squire, 
his  eyes  brightening.  "  Now  it's  the  most  extraor- 
dinary thing  that  the  people  round  here  can't  see  that. 
Even  my  cousin,  old  Humphrey  Meadshire,  seemed  to 
be  quite  taken  in  by  her." 

"  Oh,  well — men !  "  said  Lady  Aldeburgh  meaningly. 

"  Ah,  but  it  isn't  only  men,"  said  the  Squire.  "  It's 
the  women  too.  They're  all  ready  to  take  her  in  as 
if  she  was  one  of  themselves.  Now  I  saw  at  once,  the 
first  time  I  set  eyes  on  her,  what  sort  of  a  woman  she 
was.  I  don't  profess  to  be  more  clear-sighted  than  other 
people,  but — but,  still,  there  it  is.  You  saw  it,  and  of 
course  you  go  about  more  than  the  women  do  here,  most 
of  'em,  and  know  more  of  the  world." 

"  I  should  hope  I  do,  the  frumps ! "  was  Lady  Aide- 
burgh's  inward  comment,  but  she  said,  "  I  know  your 
Dick — not  so  well  as  I  do  Humphrey,  but  pretty  well — ■ 
and  I  say  that  he  is  much  too  fine  a  fellow  to  throw 
himself  away  like  that.  Still,  if  he  has  made  up  his 
mind  about  it,  what  can  you  do  ?  " 

He  told  her  what  he  could  do,  and  to  some  extent  had 
done — withdraw  or  threaten  to  withdraw  supplies,  and 
she  commended  this  course  warmly.  "  That  ought  to 
bring  him  to  his  senses,"  she  said.  "  And  if  it  doesn't — 
well,  you  have  other  sons." 

The  Squire  did  not  quite  like  this  implication.  He 
had  never  yet  faced  the  question  of  what  he  would  do 
after  Dick  got  married,  if  he  should  get  married  in 
spite  of  him.  But  certainly,  the  prospect  of  disin- 
heriting him  had  never  crossed  his  mind. 


THE    GUNS   AND    THE    LADIES      171 

"  I  have  never  met  jour  second  son,  I  think,"  said 
Lady  Aldeburgh.     "He's  a  doctor,  isn't  he?" 

"  Oh,  that's  Walter,"  said  the  Squire.  "  You'll  see 
him  this  evening.  He's  the  third.  Humphrey  come« 
next  to  Dick." 

"  Oh ! "  said  Lady  Aldeburgh,  who  had  the  same 
means  of  access  to  works  of  reference  dealing  with  the 
County  Families  of  England  as  other  people,  and  used 
them  not  less  frequently. 

"  You  know  we  had  to  stop  the  same  sort  of  thing 
with  Clinton  a  few  years  ago,"  said  Lady  Aldeburgh. 
"  He  was  wild  to  marry  one  of  the  Frivolity  girls — 
pretty  creature  she  was  too,  I  must  admit  that,  and 
quite  respectable,  and  it  really  went  to  my  heart  to 
have  to  stop  it.  But  of  course  it  would  never  have 
done.  And  what  made  it  so  difficult  for  a  time  was  that 
we  had  no  hold  over  Clinton  about  money  and  that  sort 
of  thing.     He  must  come  in  for  everything." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  the  Squire  airily,  "  I  couldn't  cut 
Dick  out  of  Kencote  eventually,  whatever  he  did.  But 
he  wouldn't  find  things  very  easy  if  Kencote  were  all 
there  was  to  come  into." 

Lady  Aldeburgh  took  this,  and  took  it  rightly,  as 
meaning  that  there  was  a  good  deal  of  unsettled  prop- 
erty which  the  Squire  could  leave  as  he  liked,  which  may 
or  may  not  have  been  what  she  had  wanted  to  find  out. 
"  Then  you  have  an  undoubted  hold  over  him,"  she 
said.  "  Of  course,  I  know  it  must  be  very  unpleasant 
for  you  to  have  to  exercise  it,  but,  if  I  may  say  so,  it 
seems  to  me  that  simply  to  threaten  to  withdraw  his 
allowance  if  he  should  marry  against  your  wishes  won't 
stop  him  if  he  can  look  forward  to  having  everything 
by  and  by." 

"  He  wouldn't  have  everything,  anyhow,"  said  the 
Squire. 

"  Well,  whatever  he  is  going  to  have  besides  the 
place.     You  don't  mind  my  talking  of  all  this,  do  you? 


172  THE    ELDEST    SON 

I've  not  the  slightest  desire  to  poke  into  affairs  that 
don't  concern  me." 

"  Very  good  of  you  to  take  such  an  interest  in  it 
all,"  said  the  Squire.  "  I  don't  mind  telling  you  in  the 
least — it's  quite  simple.  Kencote  has  always  been  en- 
tailed, but  there's  a  good  deal  of  land  and  a  consid- 
erable amount  of  other  property  which  doesn't  go  with 
it.  Dick  won't  be  as  well  off  as  I  was  when  I  succeeded 
my  grandfather,  because  there  was  nobody  but  me,  ex- 
cept some  old  aunts,  and  I've  got  a  large  family  to 
provide  for.  Still,  he'll  be  a  good  deal  better  off  than 
most  men  with  a  big  place  to  keep  up,  and  there'll  be 
plenty  left  for  the  rest." 

"  That's  if  he  does  as  you  wish,"  said  Lady  Alde- 
burgh. 

"  Well,  I  hadn't  thought  of  it  in  that  way,"  admit- 
ted the  Squire. 

"  But,  my  dear  man,"  she  exclaimed,  "  you  are  not 
using  your  best  weapon — your  only  weapon.  If  he  is 
infatuated  with  this  woman  do  you  think  he  will  be 
prevented  from  marrying  her  by  your  stopping  his  al- 
lowance.^ Of  course  he  won't.  He  can  get  what  money 
he  wants  for  the  present,  and  she  has  some,  I  suppose. 
He  only  has  to  marry  and  sit  down  and  wait." 

"  Then  what  ought  I  to  do  ? "  asked  the  Squire 
grumpily.  He  knew  what  she  meant,  and  hated  the 
idea  of  it. 

"  Why,  tell  him  that  if  he  makes  this  marriage  you 
won't  leave  him  a  penny  more  than  you're  obliged  to." 

"  If  I  said  that  I  should  commit  myself." 

"  You  mean  if  you  threatened  it,  you'd  have  to  do 
it.  Well,  I  think  you  would.  Yours — ours,  I  should 
say — is  one  of  the  oldest  families  in  England,  and  you 
are  the  head  of  it.     You  can't  see  it  let  down  like  that." 

This  was  balm  to  the  Squire,  but  it  did  not  relieve  the 
heaviness  of  his  heart.  "  I  believe  I  shall  have  to  do 
something  of  that  sort,"  he  said,  "  or  threaten  it  any- 


THE    GUNS   AND    THE    LADIES      173 

how,"   and   having  arrived   at  the   place   for  the  next 
drive,  he  turned  with  a  sigh  to  the  business  in  hand. 

The  short  winter  day  came  to  an  end,  and  at  dusk 
they  found  themselves  on  the  edge  of  the  park,  after 
having  shot  the  birds  out  of  the  last  covert.  They 
strolled  home  across  the  frosty  grass,  under  the  dark- 
ening sky  already  partly  illumined  by  a  round  moon, 
merry  or  quiet,  pleased  or  vexed  with  themselves,  ac- 
cording to  their  several  natures  and  the  way  the}-  had 
acquitted  themselves  in  the  day's  sport,  and  the  warm, 
well-lighted  house  swallowed  them  up. 

Joan  and  Nancy  went  up  to  their  room.  "  You 
haven't  been  near  me  all  the  afternoon,"  said  Nancy. 
"  Here's  half  a  crown  from  Humphre3\  It's  disap- 
pointing. Did  you  do  any  business  with  Uncle 
Herbert  ?  " 

For  answer  Joan  burst  out  crying.  "  I  hate  all  this 
beastly  cadging  for  money,"  she  said  through  her  tears, 
"  and  I  won't  do  it  any  more." 

"Well,  don't  howl,"  said  Nancy,  "or  you'll  look 
awful  when  we  go  downstairs.     What  has  happened  .^^  " 

"  Mr.  Wilkinson  gave  me  ten  b — bob,"  sobbed  Joan. 
"  I  didn't  ask  him  for  it.  And  then  poor  old  Colonel 
Stacey  thought  he  must  do  the  same,  so  he  took  out  a 
sh-shabby  old  purse  and  offered  me  another  one,  and 
I  believe  it  w^as  the  only  one  in  it.  And  I  wouldn't 
take  it." 

"  Do  pull  yourself  together,  old  girl,"  entreated 
Nancy.  "  Well,  if  he's  so  hard  up,  I  think  it  was 
rather  a  delicate  action." 

Joan  turned  on  her,  and  her  tears  were  dried  up  by 
the  heat  of  her  indignation.  "  You're  always  talking 
about  your  brains,"  she  said,  "  and  you  can't  see  any- 
thing. Of  course,  I  should  have  felt  a  beast  anyhow, 
but  I  feel  much  more  of  a  beast  for  taking  Mr.  Wil- 
kinson's tip  and  refusing  his." 

"Why?"  asked  Nancy. 


174  THE   ELDEST   SON 

"  Because  he'd  know  I  thought  he  was  too  poor," 
said  Joan,  her  tears  breaking  out  afresh. 

Nancy  considered  this.  "  I  dare  say  he  didn't  think 
much  about  it,"  she  said.  "  But  why  didn't  you  go  and 
make  up  to  him  afterwards,  if  you  felt  hke  that.?  Do 
leave  off  blubbering." 

Joan  took  no  heed  of  this  advice.  A  physically  tiring 
day  and  the  distress  she  had  kept  down  during  the 
afternoon  had  been  too  much  for  her,  and  now  she  was 
lying  on  her  bed  sobbing  unrestrainedly.  "  I  w-would 
have  gone  to  stand  with  him,"  she  said.  "  P-poor  old 
d-darling,  he  looked  so  lonely  standing  there  all  by 
himself,  for  no  one  went  near  him,  except  m-mother, 
once.  B-but  I  thought  he'd  think  I  wanted  the  t-tip 
after  all,  so  I  d-didn't.  Here's  Mr.  Wilkinson's  half- 
sovereign.     You  can  take  it.     I  don't  want  it." 

"  Well,  if  you  don't,  I  don't,"  said  Nancy,  picking 
up  the  coin  which  Joan  had  thrown  on  to  the  floor, 
nevertheless,  and  putting  it  on  to  the  dressing-table. 
"  I  don't  know  why  you're  always  trying  to  make  me 
out  more  hard-hearted  than  you  are.  Shall  I  fetch 
mother  .f^  " 

"  N-no.    Y-yes,"  said  Joan. 

So  Mrs.  Clinton  was  fetched,  and  heard  the  story, 
sitting  on  the  bed,  while  Joan  sobbed  on  her  shoulder. 
Nancy  leant  on  the  rail  and  helped  to  explain  matters. 
She  now  felt  like  crying  herself.  "  We  have  a  sort  of 
joke  with  the  boys,"  she  said.  "  They  understand  it 
all  right,  but,  of  course,  we  wouldn't  go  asking  every- 
body for  money,  mother." 

"  I  think  you  are  getting  rather  too  old  to  accept 
money  presents  from  any  one  outside  the  family,"  Mrs. 
Clinton  said,  "  although  it  was  very  kind  of  Mr.  Wil- 
kinson to  give  you  one,  and  I  don't  mind  your  having 
taken  it  in  the  least.  And  I'm  sure  Colonel  Stacey 
didn't  think  anything  of  your  refusing,  Joan  dear. 
So  I  shouldn't  worry  any  more  about  that ;  and  I  think 


THE    GUNS   AND    THE   LADIES      175 

you  had  better  have  some  tea  up  here  and  lie  down  till 
dinner-time." 

So  Joan's  tender  heart  was  comforted,  and  Colonel 
Stacey  kept  his  half-sovereign,  whirh  if  he  could  not 
have  afforded  to  lose  he  would  never  have  thought  of 
offering. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE    MONEY    QUESTION 

Walter  Clinton,  with  his  wife  and  two  little  girls, 
arrived  at  Kencote  an  hour  or  so  before  dinner-time, 
and  the  Squire  instantly  seized  upon  him  for  a  con- 
fabulation. "  George  Senhouse  is  in  my  room,"  he  said, 
"  and  the  rest  are  playing  pool.  Come  into  the  smoking- 
room.     I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

Walter  followed  him  through  the  baize  door  and  down 
the  stone  passage.  He  was  not  so  handsome  as  Dick 
nor  so  smart-looking  as  Humphrey,  but  he  was  tall 
and  well  set  up,  with  an  air  of  energy  and  good-humour 
that  was  attractive.  "It's  jolly  to  be  here  for  a  bit 
again,"  he  said.  "  I've  been  working  like  a  nigger. 
We've  got  a  regular  plague  of  influenza  at  Melbury 
Park." 

The  Squire  grunted.  He  was  pleased  enough  to  see 
his  son,  but  he  always  shied  at  the  words  Melbury  Park, 
and  rather  disliked  mention  of  Walter's  profession, 
which  had  been  none  of  his  choosing. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you've  heard  of  this  wretched 
business  of  Dick's,"  he  said,  as  he  lighted  a  big 
cigar. 

Walter  filled  his  pipe,  standing  by  the  fire.  "  Yes. 
I've  seen  him,"  he  said. 

The  Squire  held  the  match  in  his  hand  as  he 
exclaimed,  "  You've  seen  him,  eh?  " 

"  Yes,  he  spent  Christmas  with  us,"  said  Walter. 

The  Squire  threw  the  match,  which  had  begun  to  bum 
his  fingers,  into  the  grate.  "  Why  on  earth  didn't  you 
let  me  know?"  he  asked. 

176 


THE    MONEY   QUESTION  177 

"  He  didn't  want  me  to,"  replied  Walter,  taking  his 
seat  in  one  of  the  shabby  easy-chairs. 

The  Squire  thought  this  over.  It  affected  him  dis- 
agreeably, making  him  feel  very  far  from  his  son. 
"Was  he  all  right?"  he  asked. 

"  Of  course,  he  was  worried,"  said  Walter.  "  He  was 
all  right  otherwise." 

"  Well,  now,  don't  you  think  he's  behaving  in  a  most 
monstrous  way.?"  asked  the  Squire,  anxious  to  substi- 
tute a  mood  of  righteous  anger  for  one  of  painful 
longing. 

"  Well,  I  can't  say  I  do,"  replied  Walter. 

"  Oh,  he's  talked  you  over.  But  I'll  tell  you  this, 
Walter,  he  shall  not  marry  this  woman,  and  drag  us  all 
in  the  mud.  You  ought  to  be  doing  what  you  can  to 
stop  it,  too,  instead  of  encouraging  him." 

"  I'm  not  encouraging  him,"  said  Walter.  "  It 
wouldn't  make  any  difference  whether  I  encouraged  him 
or  discouraged  him,  either.  He  has  made  up  his  mind 
to  marry  her  and  he^s  going  to  do  it." 

"  I  tell  you  he  is  not  going  to  do  it."  The  Squire 
hitched  himself  forward  out  of  the  depths  of  his  chair 
to  give  more  weight  to  his  pronouncement. 

Walter  remained  silent,  with  a  mental  shrug,  and  the 
Squire  was  rather  at  a  loss  to  know  how  to  proceed. 
"  Do  you  know  what  this  woman  is  like.''  "  he  asked. 

"  I've  seen  her  photograph  and  heard  what  Dick  has 
to  say  about  her,"  said  Walter. 

"  Oh,  Dick !  Dick's  infatuated,  of  course.  I  should 
have  thought  you  would  have  had  more  sense  than  to 
swallow  his  description  of  her  blindly.  She's — oh,  I 
can't  trust  myself  to  say  what  she  is.  But  I'll  tell  you 
this.  I'd  rather  Kencote  passed  out  of  the  Clinton 
family  altogether  than  that  she  came  to  be  mistress 
of  it." 

"  Well,  that  won't  happen  for  a  great  many  years,  I 
hope,"  said  Walter. 


178  THE    ELDEST    SON 

"  It  will  never  happen,"  said  the  Squire,  with  im- 
mense emphasis. 

Again  Walter  w^as  silent,  and  his  father  slightly  em- 
barrassed. "  How  is  he  going  to  get  married,  I  should 
like  to  know,"  he  asked  presently,  "  if  I  don't  help  him  ? 
I've  told  him  that  the  moment  he  does  marry  I  shall 
help  him  no  longer.  I  don't  suppose  he's  got  a  couple 
of  hundred  pounds  in  the  world.  He  can  marry  with 
that,  but  he  can't  live  on  it.  He's  not  going  to  live  on 
her  money,  I  suppose." 

"  No,  he's  got  a  job,"  said  Walter  calmly. 

Again  the  Squire  stared.  "  Got  a  job !"  he  repeated. 
"What  sort  of  a  job.?" 

"  Quite  a  good  one.  Agent  to  John  Spence  up  in 
Yorkshire — the  chap  who  was  in  his  regiment." 

The  Squire's  surprise,  and  what  must  be  called,  in 
view  of  his  thwarted  diplomacy,  discomposure,  were  in- 
dicated by  his  dropped  jaw.  Walter  went  on  in  even 
tone.  "  He's  to  get  six  hundred  a  year  and  a  house. 
There's  a  place  in  Warwickshire  too,  which  he'll  have  to 
look  after.  He  was  just  going  to  take  quite  a  small 
thing  in  Ireland,  but  Spence  heard  he  was  available  and 
rushed  up  and  booked  him.  You  see,  he  knows  his  job 
well." 

Of  course  he  knew  his  job  well.  Hadn't  the  Squire 
taken  a  pride  ever  since  he  had  been  the  smallest  of 
small  boys  in  initiating  him  into  it.?  Hadn't  he  seen 
to  it  that  if  he  learned  nothing  else  during  his  long  and 
expensive  school  and  university  education,  he  should 
learn  all  that  could  be  learnt  about  the  land  and  the 
intricacies  of  estate  management?  And  hadn't  he  re- 
joiced in  seeing  him  take  kindly  to  it  ever  since.''  He 
had  been  quite  content  to  spend  the  greater  part  of  his 
leave  at  home,  often  working  as  hard  as  if  he  were  a 
paid  agent,  even  taking  papers  up  to  London,  working 
at  them  there,  and  writing  long  letters.  He  had  not 
been  content  to  take  a  general  interest  in  the  property 


THE    MONEY   QUESTION  179 

to  which  he  was  one  day  to  succeed,  riding  or  walking 
about  the  place  and  leaving  details  to  the  agent  and  the 
estate  staff.  Why,  it  had  been  possible,  ten  years  be- 
fore, when  the  old  agent  had  been  superannuated,  to 
dispense  with  one  altogether  for  six  months,  nobody 
suitable  having  come  forward ;  and  the  present  one,  Mr. 
Haydon,  was  hardly  more  than  a  bailiff.  And  more  con- 
vincingly still,  lately,  had  the  Squire  discovered  that 
Dick  knew  his  job.  He  thought  he  knew  it  himself,  but 
he  had  been  lost  without  him,  and  if  Dick  continued  to 
keep  away  from  Kencote,  he  would  have  to  make  new 
arrangements  altogether,  and  get  some  one  in  the 
place  of  Mr.  Haydon  to  help  him. 

And  now  all  Dick's  knowledge  and  experience  were 
to  be  used  to  thwart  him.  It  would  no  longer  be  avail- 
able for  the  benefit  of  Kencote.  That  was  bad  enough 
in  itself,  but  it  was  far  worse  to  know  that  it  had  made 
Dick  independent  of  him  and  himself  powerless.  For 
the  first  time  in  this  unhappy  business  he  felt  an  impulse 
of  pure  anger  against  his  son.  Hitherto  he  had  been 
grieved  about  him,  and  only  angi^y  against  others.  Now, 
as  these  thoughts  passed  through  his  mind,  he  broke 
out,  "  That's  the  most  disgraceful  thing  I've  heard  of 
yet.  Going  to  throw  the  whole  place  over,  is  he,  and 
leave  me  to  do  the  best  I  can,  while  he  goes  and  takes 
service  under  somebody  else.^^  Very  well,  then.  If  he 
is  going  to  throw  Kencote  over,  Kencote  will  throw  him 
over.  I've  had  as  much  as  I  can  stand.  Now  I'll  act, 
and  act  in  a  way  that  will  surprise  him." 

Walter  looked  up  in  alarmed  surprise.  He  thought 
he  knew  his  father,  and  exactly  how  far  he  would  go. 
He  had  known  in  discussing  matters  with  Dick  that  he 
would  make  a  fuss,  and  go  on  making  it,  until  things 
were  accomplished  which  would  make  it  useless  for  him 
to  fuss  any  further.  But  he  had  always  taken  it  for 
granted  that  Dick  had  the  cards  in  his  hand,  and  that 
in  the  long  run  he  must  win  the  game.     But  this  looked 


180  THE   ELDEST   SON 

as  if  they  had  both  miscalculated  Dick's  hand,  and  that 
a  trump  they  had  thought  to  be  in  his  possession  was 
really  in  his  father's. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  I  mean,"  said  the  Squire  boldly,  "  that  if  Dick  per- 
sists in  the  course  he  is  taking,  I  shall  make  a  new  will, 
and  I  shan't  leave  him  a  penny  or  an  acre  of  land  be- 
yond what  he  gets  under  the  entail." 

This  was  plain  enough,  but  Walter  could  scarcely 
believe  his  ears  as  he  heard  it,  so  entirely  subversive  was 
it  of  all  ideas  in  which  he  had  been  brought  up.  He 
had  never  bothered  himself  much  about  mone3\  He 
knew  that  he  would  have  something  by  and  by,  some- 
thing probably  more  substantial  than  the  average 
younger  son's  portion,  that  there  was,  indeed,  plenty 
of  money  for  all  of  them.  But  he  had  taken  it  for 
granted,  in  the  same  way  that  he  took  the  daily  rise 
of  the  sun  for  granted,  that  the  bulk  of  it  would  go 
with  the  place — go,  that  is,  to  Dick.  And,  knowing 
his  father  as  he  did,  and  the  principles  that  guided  him, 
he  could  not,  even  now,  believe  that  he  really  meant  to 
act  in  a  way  so  destructive  of  all  Kencote  ideals  as  he 
had  indicated. 

"  Surely  you're  not  going  to  break  the  place  up !  " 
he  said. 

"  If  Dick  doesn't  come  to  his  senses  that's  what  I 
will  do,"  said  the  Squire.  "  And  if  I  once  do  it  I  shan't 
alter  it.  I  shall  have  the  will  prepared,  and  the  day 
Dick  marries  this  woman  I  shall  sign  it.  You  can  tell 
him  that.  I'll  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  him,  di- 
rectly. He  has  behaved  disgracefully  to  me,  never 
sending  a  line  for  over  a  month,  and  letting  me  know 
his  plans  through  you.  Now  you  can  tell  him  mine, 
and  you  can  tell  him  I'm  in  earnest."  He  marched  out 
of  the  room  without  further  words,  leaving  Walter  with 
the  feeling  of  a  man  who  has  just  passed  through  an 
earthquake. 


THE    MONEY    QUESTION  181 

Late  that  night  wlicn  everybody  had  gone  up  to  bed 
Walter  went  into  Humphrey's  room.  They  had  not 
had  a  chance  of  speaking  together  before.  He  told  him 
of  what  had  happened,  of  what  Dick  had  told  him  at 
Melbury  Park,  and  the  Squire  that  evening  downstairs. 

Humphrey  received  the  nevvs  in  silence,  and  with 
mixed  sensations.  "  I  didn't  know  Dick  had  been  with 
you,"  he  said  presently. 

"  He  won't  come  here,"  said  Walter.  "  He  doesn't 
say   much   about   the   governor,  but   he's   furious   with 

him." 

"  I'm  afraid  he's  furious  with  me  too,"  said  Hum- 
phrey.    "  And  really  it's  rather  unreasonable." 

"  He  didn't  say  much  about  you,"  replied  Walter 
perfunctorily. 

"  Well,  I  can't  help  it.  I've  done  nothing  I'm 
ashamed  of,  as  far  as  he's  concerned.  And  as  for  Vir- 
ginia Dubec,  I  don't  care  if  he  marries  her  to-morrow." 

Walter  was  busy  with  his  own  thoughts.  "  I  say, 
do  you  think  the  governor  can  really  mean   it.?"  he 

asked. 

Humphrey  gave  rather  an  unpleasant  little  laugh. 
"  I  hope  he  does,  for  our  sakes,"  he  said. 

Walter  looked  at  him  uncomprehendingly.  "  What 
do  you  mean  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  if  Dick  doesn't  get  whatever  it  is, 
we  shall.     I  could  do  with  it  very  well." 

Walter  eyed  him  askance.  "  I  never  thought  of  that," 
he  said  rather  coldly.  "  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  have 
Dick  cut  out  for  my  sake." 

"  It's  all  very  well  for  you,"  Humphrey  said.  "  You 
have  your  job,  which  you  like,  and  plenty  to  get  on 
with.     And  you're  married." 

"  There's  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't  get  married 
if  you  want  to,"  said  Walter. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  it  would  surprise  you  to  know 
that  I  do  want  to,"  replied  Humphrey. 


182  THE    ELDEST    SON 

Walter  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  "  My  dear  chap," 
he  said,  "  I'm  awfully  glad.     Who  is  it.'^  " 

"  Well,  I  hadn't  meant  to  say  anything  until  I  saw 
how  the  land  lay,  so  keep  it  to  yourself  for  the  present. 
It's  Susan  Clinton." 

Walter  looked  a  little  blank.  He  had  not  been  par- 
ticularly charmed  either  with  Lady  Aldeburgh  or  her 
daughter,  and  he  was  too  straightforward  to  feign  an 
enthusiasm  which  he  did  not  feel.  "  Will  she  have 
you.^  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  think  so,"  said  Humphrey.  "  We're  very 
good  pals.  But,  of  course,  there's  Aldeburgh  to  settle 
with,  or  rather  her  ladyship,  because  he  lets  'em  go  their 
own  way  and  he  goes  his.  It  can't  be  said  to  be  much 
of  a  match.  Still,  there  are  four  other  girls,  two  of 
them  out  and  about,  and  if  the  governor  sees  his  way 
to  greasing  the  wheels,  I  ought  to  be  able  to  pull  it 
off." 

There  was  something  about  this  speech  which  dis- 
pleased Walter.  He  knew  Humphrey's  way  of  talking 
and  he  knew  that  his  dwelling  on  the  financial  side  of 
a  marriage,  even  before  he  was  engaged,  might  possibly 
hide  a  feeling  which  he  would  not  want  to  express.  But 
somehow  he  found  it  difficult  to  believe  that  this  speech 
did  hide  any  particular  feeling  for  Lady  Susan  Clin- 
ton, and  equally  difficult  to  infuse  any  particular 
warmth  into  his  congratulations. 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  you  told  me,"  he  said.  "  If  you 
want  to  pull  it  off  I  hope  you  will,  and  I  shouldn't  think 
there  would  be  much  difficulty  about  money.  Besides, 
you  want  far  less  when  you're  married  than  you'd  think. 
Muriel  and  I  aren't  spending  anything  like  what  we've 
got,  and  we're  as  happy  as  possible.  I'd  advise  every 
fellow  to  get  married,  if  he  finds  a  girl  w^ho'll  fit  in 
with  him." 

"  Susan  and  I  will  fit  in  together  all  right,"  replied 
Humphrey,    "  but    we've   both   been    used   to   crashing 


THE    MONEY    QUESTION  183 

about  a  good  deal,  and  I'm  afraid  we  shouldn't  save 
much  on  your  income.  Besides,  Muriel  brought  you 
something,  and  I  don't  think  Aldcburgh  will  be  Hkely 
to  cough  up  much  with  Susan.  We  shall  be  as  poor  as 
church  mice,  anyhow.  But  if  she  don't  mind  that  I 
don't  particularly,  as  long  as  we  have  enough  to  get 
along  on." 

Walter  knew  well  enough  that  Humphrey  hated  above 
all  things  to  feel  poor,  and  decided  that  if  he  was  not 
wishing  to  marry  Susan  Clinton  for  what  she  could 
bring  him,  he  must  really  love  her,  in  spite  of  his  mer- 
cenary speech.  "  Well,  old  chap,"  he  said,  with  more 
warmth,  "  I'm  sure  I  hope  you'll  be  happy.  I  haven't 
spoken  to  her  much,  but  she  seems  a  jolly  good  sort, 
and  she's  a  sort  of  relation  already,  I  suppose.  So 
we  ought  all  to  get  on  with  her.  Well,  I  think  I'll  go 
and  lie  down  for  a  bit  before  breakfast." 

But  Humphrey  still  had  something  to  say,  something 
which  he  seemed  to  find  it  rather  difficult  to  say.  "  Dick 
and  I  are  not  particularly  good  friends  now,"  he 
began. 

"  Oh,  he  was  annoyed  at  your  letting  out  something 
or  other  about  his  Lady  George,"  said  Walter.  "  But 
he's  all  right,  really." 

"  I  shouldn't  hke  him  to  think,"  said  Humphrey, 
"  that  I  was  working  against  him  with  the  governor. 
But,  of  course,  if  he  does  marry  her,  and  the  governor 
does  what  he's  threatened  to  do — well,  it  would  make 
a  lot  of  difference  to  me." 

"  He's  not  likely  to  think  you  worked  that,"  said 
Walter  rather  coldly.  "  And  I  hope  it  won't  happen. 
Good-night." 

The  next  morning  the  whole  party  went  to  church, 
with  the  exception  of  Lady  Aldeburgh,  who  was  avei'^e 
to  making  engagements  as  early  as  eleven  o'clock.  The 
Squire  was  displeased  at  this  defection  on  her  part,  and 
when  Bobby  Trench  came  into  the  hall,  as  they  were 


184f  THE    ELDEST    SON 

setting  out,  on  his  way  to  the  smoking-room,  with  a 
pipe  in  his  mouth  and  a  novel  under  his  arm,  he  said  to 
him,  "  Haven't  you  got  a  watch?  It's  ten  minutes  to 
eleven.     You'll  be  late  for  church." 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  wasn't  thinking  of  going," 
replied  Bobby  Trench.  "  Still,  I  may  as  well.  I  can 
write  my  bits  of  letters  afterwards." 

The  Squire  grunted  and  went  out.  "  I'll  see  that 
that  young  cub  behaves  himself  as  long  as  he's  here, 
at  any  rate,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Clinton. 

Bobby  Trench  winked  at  Lady  Susan,  who  was  stand- 
ing alone  in  the  hall.  "  Cheery  sort  of  place  to  come  to, 
isn't  it .?  "  he  said.  "  Makes  you  think  yourself  back  at 
school  again." 

She  turned  away  from  him  without  smiling.  "  I'm 
enjoying  myself  very  much,"  she  said. 

"  The  deuce  you  are,"  said  Bobby  Trench  to  himself 
as  he  went  to  deposit  his  pipe  and  his  book  in  the 
smoking-room.  "  Sits  the  wind  in  that  quarter  .^^  But 
never  again,  Robert,  never  again !  " 

After  church  Humphrey  said  to  Susan  Clinton, 
"  Come  and  see  old  Aunt  Laura  with  me.  She  can't 
get  out  much  in  the  winter,  but  she  likes  to  see  people." 

So  they  went  to  the  little  house  in  the  village  and 
found  Aunt  Laura  nursing  the  fire,  with  a  Shetland 
shawl  round  her  bent  old  shoulders  and  a  large  Church 
Service  on  the  table  by  her  side. 

She  was  flattered  by  the  visit  of  Lady  Susan,  but 
1  little  anxious  lest  she  should  be  carrying  about  any 
lalse  impression  of  the  relative  importance  of  the  va- 
rious families  of  Clinton.  "  It  must  be  very  nice  for 
you  to  come  to  Kencote,  my  dear,"  she  said.  "  I  dare 
£ay  you  have  often  thought  about  it  and  wished  to  see 
the  place.  Your  great-grandfather — oh,  but  I  sup- 
pose he  was  much  more  than  that,  great-great-great, 
very  likely — did  not  behave  at  all  well,  but  that  is  all 
forgiven  and  forgotten  now,  and   I  am   sure  there  is 


THE    MONEY   QUESTION  185 

nobody  at  Kencote  now  who  is  not  pleased  to  see 
you." 

"  What  did  my  great-grcat-grandfathcr  do,  Miss 
Chnton?"  enquired  Lady  Susan  indulgently.  "I'm 
sorry  he  didn't  behave  well." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  haven't  you  read  about  it?  It  is  all 
in  the  book  about  the  Clintons — a  very  interesting  book 
indeed.  He  was  a  younger  son  and  he  fought  for  the 
Dissenters  against  King  Charles  the  First,  and  when 
King  Charles  was  beheaded  Oliver  Cromwell  turned  his 
eldest  brother,  who  of  course  was  a  Royalist,  out  of 
Kencote  and  gave  it  to  your  ancestor.  When  King 
Charles  the  Second  came  to  the  throne  he  gave  it  back 
to  its  rightful  owner,  but  your  ancestor  had  made  a 
good  deal  of  money,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  how,  and  he 
was  ennobled  in  the  reign  of  King  William  and  Queen 
Mary,  but  I  don't  know  what  for.  I  dare  say  the  Clin- 
tons of  Kencote  could  have  been  ennobled  many  times 
over  if  they  had  liked,  but  for  my  part  I  am  glad  they 
never  were.  There  are  very  few  commoners'  families  in 
England  who  have  gone  on  for  so  many  years  in  one 
place." 

"  Oh,  I  know,"  said  Lady  Susan,  with  an  arch  glance 
at  Humphrey.     "  I  have  been  told  that." 

"  Only  once  by  me,"  replied  Humphrey.  "  I  thought 
you  had  better  know  where  you  stood  once  for  all.  You 
belong  to  quite  the  junior  branch,  you  know,  and  you 
must  be  properly  humbled  when  you  come  to  Kencote." 

"  Oh,  there  is  no  necessity  for  humility,"  said  Aunt 
Laura,  who  so  long  as  she  felt  that  matters  were  thor- 
oughly understood  was  anxious  that  her  visitor  should 
not  be  unduly  cast  down.  "  There  are  other  good  fam- 
ilies in  England  besides  the  Clintons,  and  of  course 
you  do  belong  to  us  in  a  way,  my  dear." 

"  We  like  her  to  feel  that  she  belongs  to  us,  don't 
we,  Aunt  Laura  ?  "  said  Humphrey,  looking  at  the  girl 
and  not  at  the  old  lady. 


186  THE    ELDEST   SON 

Lady  Susan  blushed.  "  Oh,  of  course  I  belong  to 
you,"  she  said  hurriedly,  not  meeting  his  gaze.  "  And 
I  think  Kencote  is  a  lovely  place,  much  better  than 
Thatchover,  where  we  live." 

"  Ah,  I  have  never  seen  that,"  said  Aunt  Laura. 
"  I  have  seen  Kemsale,  my  cousin  Humphrey's  place.  I 
hear  there  is  to  be  a  ball  there  to-morrow  night,  and  I 
suppose  you  are  all  going.  I  shall  not  be  able  to  be 
present,  although  I  have  received  an  invitation.  It  was 
very  thoughtful  of  Eleanor  Kemsale  to  send  me  one. 
She  must  have  known  that  my  advanced  age  would  make 
it  impossible  for  me  to  accept,  but  she  knew  also  that 
I  should  feel  it  if  I  were  left  out,  for  for  a  number  of 
years  there  was  no  entertainment  of  that  sort  at  Kem- 
sale to  which  I  and  my  dear  sisters^  who  are  now  all 
dead,  were  not  invited." 

Lady  Susan  had  been  looking  round  the  room. 
"  What  lovely  old  prints  you  have !  "  she  said. 

"  They  are  old-fashioned  things,"  replied  Aunt 
Laura,  "  but  I  like  them.  They  do  not  actually  belong 
to  me.  I  brought  them  from  the  dower-house,  where  I 
and  my  sisters  lived  for  a  number  of  years.  But  wait 
— if  you  will  come  into  the  dining-room,  where  there 
is  a  fire  and  you  need  not  be  afraid  of  catching  cold,  I 
will  show  you  something  that  does  belong  to  me,  and 
very  pleased  I  am  to  have  it." 

"  Oh,  I  think  we'd  better  stay  here,  Aunt  Laura," 
said  Humphrey. 

But  Aunt  Laura  had  already  risen.  "  No,  Hum- 
phrey," she  said.  "  I  must  show  Lady  Susan  the  pres- 
ent you  gave  me,  which  has  afforded  me  the  greatest 
pleasure." 

So  they  followed  her  into  the  little  square,  panelled 
dining-room,  where  she  led  them  to  an  old  engraving  of 
"  Kencote  Park,  Meadshire,  the  Seat  of  John  Clinton, 
Esq.,"  which  showed,  besides  the  many-windowed,  rec- 
tangular house,  a  large  sheet  of  water  with  a  Grecian 


THE    MONEY   QUESTION  187 

temple  on  its  banks,  and  certain  gentlemen  in  tall  hats 
and  ladies  with  parasols  feeding  swans  and  apparently 
refusing  the  invitation  of  one  of  their  number,  who 
was  seated  in  a  boat,  to  go  for  a  nice  row. 

"  That  is  the  house,"  explained  Aunt  Laura,  "  as  it 
was  when  my  grandfather  altered  it,  and  made  the  lake, 
which  is  now  all  grown  round  with  rhododendrons  and 
other  trees,  so  that  you  cannot  see  it,  as  it  is  represented 
there.    But  I  think  it  is  a  fine  picture." 

She  put  her  little  grey  head  crowned  by  its  cap  of 
lace  and  ribbons  on  one  side,  bird-like,  as  if  she  were 
trying  to  judge  how  the  house  might  strike  a  stranger. 
"  It  was  not  in  that  house  your  ancestor  lived,"  she 
told  Lady  Susan.  "  That  was  burnt  down,  more's  the 
pity,  for  I  believe  it  was  still  larger  and  finer  than  the 
present  one.  I  should  like  to  possess  a  picture  of  it, 
but  that  is  impossible  because  none  exists.  At  any  rate, 
it  was  very  kind  of  Humphrey  to  find  this  one  for  me 
and  have  it  well  framed,  as  you  see,  and  give  it  to  me 
for  a  Christmas  present.  It  is  such  little  attentions  as 
that  that  people  value,  my  dear,  when  they  come  to 
my  age." 

As  they  walked  away  along  the  village  street  Lady 
Susan  said  to  Humphrey,  "  I  do  think  it  was  nice  of 
you  to  give  the  old  lady  that  picture.  It  seems  to  have 
pleased  her  very  much." 

"  Oh,  it  was  nothing,"  said  Humphrey.  "  And  she's 
worth  pleasing." 

"  Yes,  I  think  she's  very  nice,"  Lady  Susan  agreed. 

"  I'm  glad  you  like  her,"  said  Humphrey,  "  and  I 
think  she's  disposed  to  like  you.  I  say,  I  wish  you'd 
go  and  look  her  up  with  the  twins  some  time  to-morrow 
■ — without  me,  I  mean.  They  go  to  see  her  every  dajs 
and  she'd  take  it  as  a  compliment  if  you  went  again 
of  your  own  accord." 

■'  Oh,  certainly  I  will,"  said  Lady  Susan. 


CHAPTER  XVII 


SUNDAY    AND    MONDAY 


On  Monday  some  of  the  party  assembled  at  Kencote 
hunted,  but  the  Squire,  who  had  given  up  hunting  for 
the  season  for  reasons  we  know  of,  went  out  with  Sir 
Herbert  Birkett  and  George  Senhouse  to  walk  up 
partridges,  and  shoot  whatever  else  came  to  their  guns 
in  an  easy,  pottering  way.  Although  he  would  not  have 
admitted  it,  he  was  getting  quite  reconciled  to  the  loss 
of  his  favourite  sport.  His  wide  lands  afforded  him 
plenty  of  game,  and  he  enjoyed  these  small  days  with 
a  few  guns,  walking  for  miles  through  roots  and  over 
grass,  and  watching  his  dogs  work,  descendants  of  the 
famous  breed  of  pointers  which  had  been  the  pride  of 
his  sporting  old  grandfather.  He  thought  they  had 
not  been  given  half  enough  to  do  of  late  years,  and  now 
that  his  mind  was  turned  in  another  direction  he  had 
begun  to  feel  keenly  interested  and  to  follow  it  up  with 
vigour.  "  Driven  birds  are  all  very  well,"  he  said  to  his 
brother-in-law  as  they  set  out.  "  They're  more  diffi- 
cult to  hit  and  you  get  more  shooting.  But  you  don't 
get  so  much  sport.  Any  cockney  who's  got  the  trick 
of  it  can  bring  'em  down." 

"  Well,  I  can't,  and  I'm  a  cockney,"  said  Sir  Herbert. 
"  Still,  I  agree  with  you.  This  is  the  sort  of  day  for 
pleasure." 

So  they  spent  the  whole  of  the  mild  winter  day  in 
the  open,  lunched  simply  on  the  warm  side  of  a  hedge, 
and  came  back  at  dusk,  having  thoroughly  enjoyed 
themselves.  The  Squire  had  been  at  his  best,  the  coun- 
try gentleman,  busying  himself  in  the  open  air  with 
the  pursuiiii  his  forefathers  had  found  their  pleasure  in 

188 


SUNDAY   AND    MONDAY  189 

for  generations,  allied  to  his  lands,  simple  in  his  enjoy- 
ment of  what  they  provided  for  him,  companionable, 
master  of  field-craft,  perfect  as  a  host.  "  I  haven't 
had  such  a  day  for  a  long  time,"  he  said  as  they  stood 
before  the  hall  door  being  relieved  of  their  parapher- 
nalia.    "  I've  forgotten  all  my  troubles." 

Sir  Herbert  was  touched.  He  found  the  man  tire- 
some in  so  many  aspects  of  life,  stupid  and  overbearing. 
But  he  had  also  something  of  the  appealing  simplicity 
of  a  child.  He  was  in  trouble,  and  he  had  been  able  to 
forget  it  all  while  he  had  amused  himself. 

"  It's  the  best  day  I've  had  for  a  long  time  too," 
he  said.  "  You've  given  me  a  great  deal  of  pleasure, 
Edward." 

But  once  in  the  house,  the  Squire's  worries  rolled 
back  on  him — not  the  big  trouble,  which  he  had  no  time 
to  brood  over  just  now,  although  It  was  always  present 
in  the  background  of  his  mind,  but  the  little  annoy- 
ances incident  to  his  entertaining  a  lot  of  people  whose 
ways  were  not  his  ways,  and  who  Interfered  with  the 
settled  course  of  his  life. 

Lady  Aldeburgh  had  given  him  great  annoyance, 
and  as  for  Bobby  Trench,  It  was  as  much  as  he  could 
do  to  be  civil  to  him.  On  the  other  hand,  he  was  more 
pleased  with  his  son  Humphrey  than  he  had  been  for  a 
long  time,  and  he  had  also  come  to  feel  that  his  son 
Walter  was  a  man  to  be  relied  on,  in  spite  of  his  ob- 
stinate choice  of  a  profession  unsuitable  for  a  son  of 
his,  and  his  management  of  his  life  since  he  had  taken 
up  that  profession.  If  it  had  not  been  for  tliis  new- 
found satisfaction  in  his  younger  sons,  perhaps  he 
would  not  have  been  able  to  prevent  the  thoughts  of  his 
eldest  son  spoiling  his  day,  and  he  would  certainly  have 
been  far  more  actively  annoyed  with  Lady  Aldeburgh 
and  Bobby  Trench. 

For  neither  of  those  gay  butterflies  of  fashion  had 
been  able  or  cared  to  adjust  themselves  to  the  Sabbath 


190  THE    ELDEST    SON 

calm  of  a  house  managed  in  the  way  that  Kencote  was. 
Lady  Aldeburgh,  having  spent  the  morning  in  her  room, 
written  her  letters  and  done  her  duty  to  privacy  for  the 
day,  came  down  to  luncheon  ready  and  willing  to  be 
amused.  And  there  was  no  amusement  provided  for 
her.  After  luncheon  she  had  played  a  game  of  run- 
ning round  the  billiard-table  and  knocking  balls  into 
pockets  with  the  bare  hand  with  Bobby  Trench,  and 
fortunately  the  Squire,  at  rest  in  his  room,  with  the 
Spectator  on  his  knee,  had  not  known  what  they  were 
doing.  But  this  mild  amusement  had  soon  palled,  and 
the  problem  was  to  find  something  for  two  active  young 
things  to  dojn  its  place.  "  Have  you  ever  stayed  in  a 
house  like  this  before,  Bobby  dear.?  "  asked  Lady  Alde- 
burgh. 

Bobby  dear  said  that  he  never  had,  and  the  powers 
above  being  favourable,  never  would  again. 

"  It's  perfectly  deadly,"  said  Lady  Aldeburgh. 
"  What  on  earth  are  the  rest  of  them  doing.?  " 

"  Slumbering  on  their  beds,"  replied  Bobby  Trench ; 
"  and  in  half  an  hour  or  so  they  will  all  appear,  rub- 
bing their  eyes,  and  we  shall  go  for  a  nice  long  walk." 

"  Not  me,"  said  her  ladyship,  with  a  glance  at  the 
leaden  sky  outside  and  the  bare  leafless  trees  shaking  in 
a  cold  wind.  "  Do  let's  get  somewhere  by  a  cosy  fire 
and  have  a  rubber  of  bridge." 

"Who's  the  four.?"  asked  Bobby  Trench.  "Shall 
we  wake  up  old  Clinton,  and  ask  him.?  There  are  risks. 
It  might  be  amusing  to  see  somebody  in  an  apoplectic 
fit,  and  again  it  might  not." 

"  Don't  be  foolish,"  said  Lady  Aldeburgh,  patting 
him  on  the  arm.  "  Humphrey  would  play,  and  I'll  tell 
Susan  she's  wanted." 

"  They  are  going  out  for  a  walk  together.  It's  a 
case,"  said  Bobby  Trench  boldly. 

"Whatever  put  that  into  your  head.?"  enquired  her 
ladyship,  with  wide-open  eyes.     "  It's  quite  absurd." 


SUNDAY    AND    MONDAY  191 

"  Oh,  I  think  Susan's  a  very  nice  girl,"  replied 
Bobby  Trench.  "  Though  I  admit  it's  absurd  to  take 
much  notice  of  her  while  you're  about." 

Lady  Aldeburgh  hit  his  sleeve  again  with  her  jew- 
elled hand.  "  If  you  talk  like  that  I  shall  go  away," 
she  said.  "  When  I  said  it  was  absurd  I  meant  that 
neither  of  them  has  a  shilling." 

"  Humphrey  ought  to  have  a  good  many  shillings  if 
he  plays  his  hand  well  with  old  Papa  Beetroot  just 
now,"  replied  Bobby  Trench.  "  There's  a  deuce  of  an 
upset.     I  should  hold  for  a  rise  if  I  were  you." 

"  You  shouldn't  talk  so  disrespectfully.  You  are 
disrespectful  to  me,  and  to  Mr.  Clinton,  who  is  a  rela- 
tion of  mine — and  the  head  of  our  famil}^  or  so  he 
says.  And  as  for  Humphrey,  he's  a  nice  boy — cer- 
tainly the  pick  of  this  particular  bunch — but  Susan 
wouldn't  look  at  him." 

"  Why  not?     He's  civilised,  if  his  people  aren't." 

"  She  could  do  much  better,  and  I  shouldn't  allow  it. 
Of  course  they  are  friends,  and  I  don't  mind  that.  You 
must  remember  that  they  are  cousins." 

"  Is  it  fifty-sixth  or  fifty-seventh  cousins  ?  "  asked 
Bobby  Trench  innocently.  "  Well,  you  know  best,  of 
course,  but  you've  got  other  girls  besides  Susan  to  look 
after,  and  if  you  don't  take  care  she'll  get  left.  No, 
my  dear  lady,  it's  no  use  trying  to  deceive  me.  You're 
quite  ready  to  let  Susan  marry  Humphrey  if  Papa 
Mangel-Wurzel  will  put  up  the  stakes.  Aren't  you, 
now.f^     Confess." 

"  I  shan't  confess  anything  so  ridiculous,"  said  Lady 
Aldeburgh  petulantly.  "  What  I  want  to  do  is  to  play 
bridge,  and  relieve  myself  of  this  frightful  boredom. 
I  shouldn't  have  come  here  if  I'd  known  what  it  was 
like.     Can't  we  get  a  four.^^  " 

"  I'll  see  about  it  later  on,"  said  Bobby  Trench. 
"  Perhaps  after  tea.  Why  not  picquet  in  the  mean- 
time? " 


192  THE    ELDEST    SON 

"  It's  a  stupid  game,"  said  Lady  Aldeburgh.  "  But 
if  you  make  the  stakes  high  enough  it  would  be  better 
than  nothing." 

"  I'll  make  the  stakes  what  you  like,"  said  Bobby 
Trench.  "  I'll  pay  you  if  I  lose,  and  if  you  lose  you 
must  pay  me." 

Lady  Aldeburgh  having  consented  to  this  not  un- 
reasonable arrangement,  Bobby  Trench  rang  the  bell 
and  asked  the  servant  who  answered  it  to  bring  a  card- 
table  and  some  cards.  Although  somewhat  surprised 
at  the  order  he  presently  fulfilled  it,  and  the  game  pro- 
ceeded until  tea-time. 

All  the  members  of  the  house  party  met  over  the 
tea-table,  and  afterwards  Lady  Aldeburgh,  having  whis- 
pered to  her  daughter,  went  out  of  the  room  followed 
by  Bobby  Trench.  Lady  Susan  then  whispered  some- 
thing to  Humphrey,  who  looked  rather  disturbed,  and 
then  also  went  out  of  the  room  with  her.  Now  the 
whispers  had  not  been  in  the  least  obtrusive,  or  of  the 
nature  to  arouse  comment,  but  the  Squire  happened 
to  have  observed  them  both,  and  told  Joan  as  he  went 
back  into  his  room  to  find  Humphrey  and  send  him  to 
him,  not  anticipating  hearing  of  anything  wrong,  but 
thinking  that  he  might  as  well  know  what  was  going  on 
as  not. 

Joan  was  delighted  with  the  errand.  She  also  had 
observed  the  whispers,  and  was  at  least  as  eager  as  her 
father  to  find  out  what  was  on  foot.  She  went  to  sev- 
eral rooms  before  she  opened  the  door  of  the  billiard- 
room,  which  was  little  used,  and  never  on  a  Sunday. 
There  she  found  Lady  Aldeburgh  and  Bobby  Trench 
seated  at  a  card-table,  and  Humphrey  standing  by  them 
with  Susan  Clinton  at  his  side.  "  Humphrey,  father 
wants  to  speak  to  you  for  a  minute,"  she  said,  and 
then  ran  away  to  find  Nancy  and  tell  her  of  the  terri- 
ble thing  that  was  happening. 

*'Well?  if  you  don't  mind,  then,"  said  Humphrey, 


SUNDAY   AND    MONDAY  193 

preparing  to  obey  the  summons,  and  Lady  Aldeburgh 
said,  "  Oh  no,  not  in  the  least.  I  didn't  know  there 
would  be  any  objection." 

Joan,  passing  through  the  hall,  was  again  stopped 
by  the  Squire,  who  was  standing  at  the  door  of  his 
room.  "  I  told  you  to  fetch  Humphrey,"  he  said  ir- 
ritably. "Why  have  you  been  so  long?  I  want  to 
speak  to  him." 

"  I  couldn't  find  him,  father,"  said  Joan. 

"  Where  was  he?  "  asked  the  Squire. 

"He's  just  coming,"  replied  Joan. 

"  I  asked  you  where  he  was,"  persisted  the  Squire, 
and  when  she  said  he  had  been  in  the  billiard-room, 
asked  her  what  he  was  doing  there. 

"  Talking  to  Lady  Aldeburgh,"  said  Joan ;  and  the 
Squire  asked  her  what  she  was  doing. 

Then  it  came  out.  "  Playing  at  cards  with  Mr. 
Trench,"  said  Joan,  who  disliked  Lady  Aldeburgh  and 
Bobby  Trench  equally,  and  didn't  see  why  she  shouldn't 
answer  a  plain  question  in  plain  terms. 

Then  the  Squire  went  into  his  room,  shutting  the  door 
decisively,  and  Humphrey  went  in  after  him,  Joan  hav- 
ing escaped  for  the  second  time. 

Inside  the  Squire's  room  there  was  an  outbreak.  "  I 
will  not  have  it  in  this  house.  I  simply  mill  not  have 
it,"  was  the  burden  of  his  indignant  cry. 

"  Well,  look  here,  father,"  said  Humphrey  quietly. 
"  I  didn't  know  what  was  happening,  and  directly  I 
did  I  stopped  them.  They  gave  it  up  at  once  when  I 
said  you  wouldn't  like  it.  They  couldn't  tell,  you  know. 
Everybody  does  it  now." 

The  Squire  spluttered  his  wrath.  "  I  call  it  disgrace- 
ful," he  said.  "  I  don't  know  what  the  world's  coming 
to.  Cards  on  Sunday  in  a  respectable  God-fearing 
house !    And  you  defend  it !  " 

"  No,  I  don't,"  said  Humphrey.  "  I  told  you  that 
J  had  stopped  theip," 


194  THEELDESTSON 

The  Squire  looked  at  him.  "  Did  they  want  you 
to  play?"  he  asked.  "You  and  a  girl  like  Lady 
Susan !  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  her  mother  wanted 
her  to  play.^  Is  the  girl  accustomed  to  that  sort  of 
thing,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  " 

Humphrey  did  not  want  to  give  Lady  Aldeburgh 
away,  but  rather  her  than  Susan,  and  rather  Bobby 
Trench  than  either  of  them. 

"  Susan  doesn't  care  about  it,"  he  said.  "  Lady 
Aldeburgh — well,  you  can  see  what  she  is,  can't  you.'' — 
nothing  like  as  sensible  as  her  daughter.  She'll  do  what 
anybody  wants  her  to." 

"  Oh,  then  it's  Master  Trench  I'm  to  thank  for  mak- 
ing my  house  a  gambling  saloon  on  a  Sunday !  "  ex- 
claimed the  Squire.  "  If  he  wasn't  my  guest,  I  would 
say  something  to  that  young  cub  that  would  surprise 
him.  Anyhow,  he'll  never  come  into  this  house  again, 
and  I  must  say,  seeing  what  he  is,  that  I  wonder  at  your 
asking  him  at  all." 

"  I'm  sorry  I  did,"  said  Humphrey.  "  But  I  hope 
you  won't  say  anything  to  him  about  this.  I'll  take 
charge  of  them  and  see  that  they  behave  themselves." 

"  Then  you'll  have  your  work  cut  out  for  you,"  said 
the  Squire  grumpily.  "  You'd  better  set  about  doing 
it  at  once.  I  wish  to  goodness  I'd  never  consented  to 
people  like  that  coming  into  the  house.  I  may  be  old- 
fashioned — I  dare  say  I  am — but  I  don't  understand 
their  ways,  and  I  don't  want  to." 

That  had  been  the  end  of  it  as  far  as  he  was  con- 
cerned. 

If  he  could  have  heard  what  passed  between  Lady 
Aldeburgh  and  Bobby  Trench  when  deprived  of  their 
legitimate  amusement — but  that  thought  is  too  painful. 
What  had  happened  further  on  that  Sunday  evening 
was  that  feeling  vaguely  the  need  of  some  sort  of  com- 
fort in  the  anxieties  that  beset  him  he  had  suddenly 
taken  it  into  his  head  to  go  to  church  to  the  evening 


SUNDAY    AND    MONDAY  195 

service,  a  thing  he  hardly  ever  did,  and  striding  with  firm 
and  audible  steps  into  the  chancel  pew  during  the  say- 
ing of  the  Psalms,  he  had  found,  as  well  as  most  of  the 
ladies  from  the  house  and  George  Senhouse,  assembled 
there,  Humphrey  and  Susan  Clinton  sitting  together, 
and  had  come  to  the  conclusion,  during  the  sermon,  that 
it  was  creditable  on  Humphrey's  part  to  have  stopped 
the  card-playing  on  his  behalf,  instead  of  joining  in  it, 
as  might  have  been  expected  of  him,  and  that  he  seemed 
to  be  turning  over  a  new  leaf,  and  was  probably  exer- 
cising a  good  influence  over  the  harmless  daughter  of  a 
foolish  mother. 

So  he  was  pleased  with  Humphrey,  but  displeased 
w^ith  Lady  Aldeburgh,  who  had  shown  herself  perverse 
at  the  dinner-table  and  in  the  drawing-room  afterwards, 
had  refused  to  talk  more  than  was  necessary,  and  had 
gone  up  to  her  room  on  the  stroke  of  ten ;  and  furious 
with  Bobby  Trench,  who  had  made  no  effort  to  disguise 
his  yawns  throughout  the  evening,  and  fallen  openly 
asleep  in  the  library  after  the  ladies  had  retired. 

As  for  Walter,  he  had  talked  to  him  very  sensibly 
later  still  in  the  evening  about  Dick.  "  Don't  do  any- 
thing," he  had  said,  "  till  I  have  seen  him  again.  I 
don't  know  what  can  be  done,  or  if  anything  can  be 
done.  But  it's  quite  certain  that  If  you  threaten  him 
you  will  drive  him  straight  into  doing  what  you  don't 
want  him  to  do."  So  he  had  consented  to  Walter  acting 
as  his  ambassador,  and  felt  that  he  could  rely  on  him 
in  that  capacity,  and  even  take  some  comfort  in  the 
hope  that  he  might  do  something  to  lighten  the  state 
of  gloom  and  depression  in  which  most  of  his  waking 
hours  were  now  passed. 

It  was  with  a  feeling  of  rehef  that  he  saw  the  whole 
party,  with  the  exception  of  Sir  Herbert  Birkett,  set 
out  later  in  the  evening  on  their  ten-mile  drive  to  Kem- 
sale.  It  had  been  his  intention  to  go  with  them,  but 
the  thought  that  Virginia,  with  whom  he  had  seen  Lord 


196  THE    ELDEST    SON 

Meadshire  colloguing,  would  almost  certainly  have  re- 
ceived an  invitation,  and  would  no  doubt  eagerly  have 
accepted  it,  deterred  him.  When  his  wife's  carriage, 
containing  herself.  Lady  Birkett,  and  Lady  Aldeburgh, 
who  would  far  rather  have  been  with  the  younger  mem- 
bers of  the  party,  had  driven  off,  and  the  omnibus, 
with  the  rest  of  them,  had  followed  it,  he  breathed  a  sigh 
of  relief.  "  To-morrow  we  shall  be  able  to  settle  down 
again,  thank  God ! "  he  said  to  himself  as  the  door  was 
shut  behind  him. 

Kemsale  Hall,  towards  which  carriages  from  every 
country  house  in  South  Meadshire  within  driving  dis- 
tance, and  motor-cars  from  far  beyond,  were  converg- 
ing, was  a  very  fine  place,  and  the  ball  which  Lord 
Meadshire  gave  that  evening  was  a  very  fine  ball. 
Amongst  the  numerous  guests,  whose  names  were  all 
chronicled  in  the  Bathgate  Herald  and  South  Mead- 
shire Advertiser^  were  Lady  George  Dubec  and  Miss 
Dexter. 

Virginia  had  gone  home  from  the  Hunt  Ball  vowing 
that  nothing  would  induce  her  to  accept  the  invitation 
which  Lady  Kemsale  had  given  her  so  patronisingly 
when  it  should  be  confirmed  by  the  promised  card,  and 
Miss  Dexter  had  backed  her  up  in  her  own  dry  way, 
while  professing  to  combat  her  resolution. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  can  be  thinking  of,  Vir- 
ginia," she  said.  "  Refuse  an  invitation  to  a  house  like 
Kemsale — the  house  of  a  Marquis,  a  Lord-Lieutenant ! 
W^hy,  lots  of  women  would  commit  hari-kari  to-morrow 
— or  at  least  the  day  after  the  ball — if  they  could  get 
an  invitation." 

"  Well,  I'm  not  one  of  them,"  said  Virginia.  "  To 
think  that  I  would  go  anywhere  on  sufferance!  Lord 
Meadshire's  an  old  darling,  but  as  for  his  daughter-in- 
law,  I  should  very  much  like  to  tell  her  what  I  think 
of  her." 

The  opportunity  of  doing  so  occurred  no  later  than 


SUNDAY   AND   MONDAY  197 

the  following  afternoon,  when  Lady  Kemsale  came 
to  Blaythorn  Rectory  to  call,  but  Virginia  did  not 
take  it. 

Lady  Kemsale's  manners  were  naturally  stiff,  but 
she  did  her  best  to  soften  them  when  she  was  shown 
into  Virginia's  drawing-room.  "  I  thought  I  would 
come  over  before  Monday,"  she  said,  with  a  smile,  "  so 
as  to  put  everything  on  the  most  approved  basis  of 
etiquette.  We  don't  often  get  new  people  in  this  part 
of  the  world,  and  when  we  do  we  must  make  haste  to 
show  that  we  appreciate  them." 

This  was  handsome  enough,  and  it  rather  took  Vir- 
ginia's breath  away.  When  Lady  Kemsale  had  been 
announced  she  had  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  Lord 
Meadshire  had  sent  her,  which  was  true;  but  what  was 
also  true  was  that  she  had  been  quite  pleased  to  come, 
and  to  have  the  opportunity  of  making  amends  for  her 
frigidity  at  the  Hunt  Ball,  which  had  been  caused  by 
the  Squire's  tale  and  thawed  again  by  her  own  observa- 
tions. When  she  drove  away  half  an  hour  later  Vir- 
ginia said  with  a  rare  lapse  into  the  American  tongue, 
"  Why,  she's  a  perfectly  lovely  woman,  after  all,  Toby. 
Now  you  can't  say  that  I  was  wrong  to  say  I'd  go,  after 
the  way  she  behaved." 

"  Just  a  little  soft-sawder,  and  you  fall  at  her  feet," 
said  Miss  Dexter.  But  she  was  pleased,  all  the  same, 
that  Virginia  should  be  going  to  Kemsale,  and  that  one 
more  of  Dick's  people  should  have  acknowledged  her 
charm  and  her  worth.  She  was  pleased  also  to  be  going 
herself,  for  she  had  a  little  scheme  of  her  own,  which 
she  had  not  imparted  to  her  friend. 

She  had,  in  fact,  made  up  her  mind  to  speak  to  Mrs. 
Clinton,  if  she  could  find  an  excuse  to  do  so,  unobserved 
by  the  Squire.  She  had  watched  her  in  the  Bathgate 
Assembly  Room,  and  she  had  seen  her  in  her  turn  watch- 
ing Virginia  with  eyes  whose  meaning,  whatever  it  was, 
was  not  one  of  hostility.     "  Now  there's  a  woman  with 


198  THE    ELDEST   SON 

sense,"  she  had  said  to  herself.  "  She  wouldn't  be  tire- 
some. I  wonder  how  much  she  is  under  the  influence  of 
her  old  bear  of  a  husband  ?  " 

This  was  what  she  was  going  to  find  out,  if  she  could, 
and  she  waited  her  opportunity,  refusing  invitations  to 
dance,  and  wandering  about  the  great  string  of  rooms 
at  Kemsale,  stalking  her  prey,  with  a  whole-hearted 
indifference  as  to  Avhat  might  be  thought  cf  a  single 
lady  so  apparently  friendless  and  partnerless. 

It  was  Lord  Meadshire  himself,  who,  coming  across 
her  passing  through  one  of  the  smaller  drawing-rooms, 
did  what  she  wanted.  "  What !  not  dancing?  "  he  asked 
in  his  friendly  way ;  and  with  a  searching  glance  at  his 
kind  old  face  she  said,  "I  have  something  else  to  do. 
I  want  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Chnton,  but  I  don't  know 
her." 

He  looked  at  her  in  return  with  a  momentary  seri- 
ousness. "Want  to  gain  a  convert,  eh.^^  "  he  asked. 
He  liked  her  plain  sensible  face,  and  the  way  she  stood, 
square  to  him  and  to  the  world.  "  Tell  me  now,  is  this 
a  serious  business?" 

She  did  not  answer  him  directly.  "  She's  one  of  the 
best  women  in  the  world,"  she  said.  "  Perhaps  I'm  the 
only  person  who  really  knows  what  she's  been  through 
and  how  she  has  taken  it.  She  has  come  out  of  her 
troubles  pure  gold.  And  anybody  can  see  for  them- 
selves that  she  is  beautiful  and  has  a  charm  all  her 
own." 

"  Oh  yes,  anybody  can  see  that,"  said  Lord  Mead- 
shire. "  She's  a  sweet  creature.  And  Dick  Chnton 
wants  to  marry  her.     He's  serious,  eh?  " 

"  I  think  he  has  proved  it,"  said  Miss  Dexter. 

Lord  Meadshire  considered  this.  He  had  heard  that 
Dick  had  retired  from  the  army,  but  not  about  his  hav- 
ing taken  an  estate  agency.  "  I  suppose  he  is,"  he 
said. 

^'  They    ought    to    know    her,"    said    Miss    Dexter. 


SUNDAY   AND    MONDAY  199 

"  People   ought   not   to   hug  prejudices   that   have   no 


reason." 


Lord  Meadshire  looked  at  her  with  his  mischievous 
smile.  "  A  matter  of  abstract  right  and  wrong — 
what.''  "  he  said.  "  Well,  come  along,  and  Pll  intro- 
duce you.  But  jou  must  tell  me  your  name,  which  I'm 
afraid  I  have  forgotten,  although  I  know  quite  well 
who  you  are,  you  know." 

"  Yes.  I'm  Lady  George  Dubec's  companion,  and  my 
name  is  Dexter,"  she  said. 

Lord  ]\Ieadshire  loved  a  little  conspiracy.  His  eyes 
twinkled  at  her  as  he  said,  "  This  dance  is  coming  to^ 
an  end,  and  people  will  be  here  in  a  minute.  You  would 
like  to  talk  to  her  by  yourselves.  Go  into  the  con- 
servatory there,  and  leave  it  all  to  me." 

So  Miss  Dexter  went  and  deposited  herself  on  one  of 
two  chairs  under  a  palm.  Couples  in  search  of  privacy 
wondered,  sometimes  audibly,  why  on  earth  the  woman 
couldn't  find  some  other  place  to  sit  and  mope  in,  but 
she  sat  on  undisturbed.  A  man  whom  she  had  danced 
with  before,  also  unattached,  mooned  in  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  and  showed  a  disposition  to  take  the  va- 
cant chair.  "  Please  go  away,"  she  said.  "  I  have  got 
toothache,  and  anybody  who  talks  to  me  will  have  his 
head  snapped  off,"  and  he,  being  of  a  diffident  nature, 
went.  Presently  the  lilting  sweep  of  strings  and  the 
sweet  penetrating  sound  of  horns  came  sweeping  in  from 
the  distant  orchestra,  and  she  was  left  alone  once  more, 
except  for  one  couple,  who  still  sat  on  in  a  distant  cor- 
ner. But  by  and  by  she  heard  voices  approaching. 
These  were  from  Lord  Meadshire  and  Mrs.  Clinton, 
whom  he  had  brought  in  to  look  at  the  flowers,  which 
were  banked  up  in  gay,  scented  masses  underneath  the 
spreading  branches  of  the  great  palms.  They  came 
to  where  she  was  sitting,  and  Lord  Meadshire  said  again, 
"What!  not  dfincing?  "  She  rose  and  stood  before 
them.    "  I'm  having  a  little  rest,"  she  said,  with  a  smile ; 


^00  THE    ELDEST    SON 

and  then  he  made  the  introduction.  "  Do  you  know 
Miss  Dexter,  Nina?"  he  asked.  "She  has  come  to 
live  here  for  a  time.     Mrs.  Chnton." 

Mrs.  Chnton  acknowledged  the  introduction  not 
without  stiffness.  She  was  taken  by  surprise,  as  was 
intended,  but  she  was  a  woman  whom  it  was  not  wise 
to  take  by  surprise,  if  you  wanted  her  to  show  you  what 
was  in  her  mind. 

Lord  Meadshire  had  intended  to  leave  her  with  Miss 
Dexter,  slipping  away  on  some  excuse  with  a  promise 
to  return,  but  when  he  had  borne  the  brunt  of  a  light 
conversation  for  a  httle  time  he  perceived  that  he  could 
not  do  so.  He  paused  in  some  bewilderment,  and  Miss 
Dexter  said,  "  May  I  have  a  few  words  with  you,  Mrs. 
Clinton.?" 

"  Ah  yes,"  he  said,  visibly  relieved.  "  I'll  leave  you 
both  here  together,  and  come  back." 

But  Mrs.  Clinton  said  at  once,  "  If  it  is  about  Lady 
George  Dubec,  I  would  rather  not  hear  anything.  I 
think  I  will  go  back  to  the  ballroom,  Cousin  Hum- 
phrey." Then  she  turned  resolutely,  with  a  bow  to 
Miss  Dexter,  who  had  plumped  herself  into  her  seat 
again  and  did  not  return  it,  and  Lord  Meadshire  had 
nothing  to  do  but  to  go  away  with  her.  "  But  you 
mustn't  sit  here  all  the  evening,"  he  said  kindly,  over 
his  shoulder,  to  Miss  Dexter.  "  I  shall  come  back  and 
fetch  you." 

But  when  he  returned  five  minutes  later  she  was  not 
there,  and  he  saw  her  dancing  vigorously,  and  appar- 
ently anxious  to  avoid  him. 

But  she  could  not  dance  the  whole  evening,  owing 
to  a  lack  of  partners,  and  he  had  an  opportunity  of 
speaking  to  her  later.  "  I'm  afraid  our  little  scheme 
miscarried,"  he  said,  with  some  concern. 

She  showed  him  a  pink,  angry  face.  "  I  wish  to 
goodness  I  had  left  it  alone,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  like 
being  snubbed." 


SUNDAY   AND    MONDAY  ^01 

"  She  won't  go  behind  her  husband,"  he  said  rather 
lamely. 

"  I  thought,  to  look  at  her,  she  had  a  good  deal  more 
sense  than  he,"  said  Miss  Dexter  uncompromisingly. 
"  It  seems  I  was  mistaken." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

MRS.    CLINTON    CHOOSES    A    GOVERNESS 

Mrs.  Clinton  sat  in  Lady  Birkett's  drawing-room  pre- 
pared to  interview,  one  by  one,  twenty  or  more  of  the 
ladies  who  had  answered  her  advertisement  for  a  gov- 
erness for  the  twins.  She  expected  to  devote  two  con- 
secutive mornings  to  her  task,  and  was  prepared  to 
Hsten,  to  weigh,  and  to  judge  with  all  her  faculties  alert. 
On  the  table  by  her  side  was  an  orderly  pile  of  letters, 
most  of  them  running  to  two  or  three  sheets  of  note- 
paper.  They  were  the  residuum  of  some  scores,  and  she 
had  read  the  contents  of  each  several  times  over. 

Punctually  on  the  stroke  of  ten  entered  Miss  Wini- 
fred Player,  twenty-five,  French,  German,  and  Italian, 
elementary  Hebrew,  music,  drawing,  thorough  English 
and  composition,  botany,  physiology,  dancing  and  calis- 
thenics, needlework,  swimming,  elementary  bookkeeping 
and  typewriting ;  daughter  of  a  clergyman  of  the 
Church  of  England ;  bright,  persevering,  and  makes 
friends  with  pupils  (see  testimonials)  ;  bicycles,  good 
walker,  tennis.  It  was  astonishing  that  she  should  have 
acquired  so  much  learning  during  her  short  term  of 
life,  and  also  spent  eight  years  in  imparting  it.  She 
proved  to  be  a  self-confident  young  woman  with  a  volu- 
ble tongue,  and  Mrs.  Clinton  had  only  to  sit  and  listen 
to  her  while  she  made  it  quite  plain  that  she  would  not 
do  at  all.  But  by  way  of  gaining  experience  which 
might  be  useful  in  dealing  with  further  applicants,  Mrs. 
Clinton  asked  her  a  few  questions  when  a  lull  in  the 
storm  of  words  allowed  her  an  opportunity,  going 
through  her  list  of  "  subjects  "  from  the  letter  she  held 
in  her  hand. 

303 


CHOOSING   A    GOVERNESS        203 

Miss  Player,  it  seemed,  had  not  studied  the  languages 
she  offered  abroad.  She  had  been  neither  to  France, 
Germany,  Italy,  nor  Syria.  French  she  had  learned  at 
school,  German  and  Italian  she  had  taught  herself  in 
spare  moments.  Hebrew — well,  she  had  hardly  sup- 
posed Hebrew  would  be  wanted,  but  she  had  put  that  in 
because  she  had  learnt  the  letters  and  helped  her  father 
by  copying.  She  knew  the  Greek  alphabet  too.  Thor- 
ough English  meant  that  she  was  fond  of  reading,  and 
had  once  reviewed  a  novel  for  a  parish  magazine.  She 
had  the  article  in  her  little  handbag,  and  offered  it  as 
corroborating  evidence.  Botany  and  physiology  she 
had  "  studied."  But  she  seemed  rather  anxious  to  get 
away  from  her  "  subjects."  "  I  always  get  on  with 
my  pupils,"  she  said,  "  and  I  don't  mind  making  myself 
useful  in  the  house.  In  fact,  I  enjoy  doing  so,  and 
feeling  that  I  am  one  of  the  family.  How  old  are  your 
little  girls,  Mrs.  Clinton?" 

"  They  are  fifteen,"  replied  Mrs.  Clinton.  "  I  am 
afraid  your  accomplishments  are  not  quite  what  I 
want." 

There  came  a  sudden  droop.  Miss  Player  was 
"  bright  "  no  longer,  but  plainly  dejected. 

"  You  offer  a  very  high  salary,"  she  said  somewhat 
inconsequently. 

"  Yes,  you  see  I  want  a  lady  of  high  education." 
"  I'm  bright  in  the  house,"  said  the  girl. 
Mrs.  Clinton  could  not  repress  a  smile.     "  I  hope  you 
will  get  a  good  place  where  your  qualities  will  be  val- 
ued," she  said,  and  Miss  Player  left  her. 

The  interview  had  only  lasted  five  minutes,  and  Mrs. 
Clinton  had  allowed  fifteen  for  each.  She  went  to  find 
her  sister-in-law.  "  I  think  you  had  better  come  and 
support  me,"  she  said,  "  and  I  think  you  will  be 
amused."  So  when  Miss  Janet  Phipp  was  shown  in  she 
found  herself  confronted  by  two  ladies  instead  of  one, 
and  both  of  them  asked  her  questions. 


204  THE    ELDEST   SON 

Miss  Phipp  was  thirty,  very  plain — there  was  no 
denying  that — but  also  on  her  own  showing  very  com- 
petent. She  had  been  educated  at  a  High  School,  and 
had  taken  the  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Arts  at  the  London 
University.  She  had  taught  in  a  High  School  ever 
since,  but  the  work  was  rather  too  hard  for  her.  Her 
doctor  had  advised  her  to  go  into  the  country  and  avoid 
the  strain  of  night  as  well  as  day  work.  "  I  am  not  an 
invalid,"  she  said  quietly,  "  and  my  health  would  give 
you  no  trouble." 

There  was  no  doubt  about  her  capacity,  but  she  was 
quite  uninspiring.  Mrs.  Clinton  hesitated.  "  Have 
you  been  used  to  living  in  the  country.''  "  she  asked. 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Miss  Phipp.  "  I  told  you — I  have 
been  at  the  High  School  for  eight  yeai^.  In  my  holi- 
days I  went  abroad  mostly,  or  to  my  home  in  Man- 
chester, as  long  as  my  parents  were  alive." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  would  find  it  very  dull,"  said  Mrs. 
Clinton. 

"  I  think  not,"  she  said.  "  But  it  wouldn't  much 
matter  if  I  did,  would  it,  as  long  as  I  did  my  work 
well.''     I  can  teach,  and  I  like  teaching." 

"  My  daughters  are  active  young  persons,"  said  Mrs. 
Clinton.  "  They  are  out  of  doors  a  great  deal.  Do 
you  play  golf,  or  lawn  tennis,  or  anything  of  that 
sort.?" 

Miss  Phipp's  face  hardened  a  little.  "  I  don't  care 
about  games,"  she  said.  "  I  have  always  put  work  first. 
I  would  undertake  to  make  your  girls  work,  and  if  I 
were  to  look  after  them  in  their  play-time — wouldn't 
that  be  all  that  would  be  wanted.''  " 

"  I  think  not,"  said  Mrs.  Clinton.  "  I  want  them  to 
work,  but  I  want  some  one  who  would  be  a  pleasant 
companion  for  them  too,  out  of  lesson  hours." 

"  Did  you  find  it  easy  to  make  friends  with  your 
pupils  at  the  school?  "  asked  Lady  Birkett. 

"  A  few  of  them,"  said  Miss  Phipp.     "  The  ones  who 


CHOOSING   A    GOVERNESS        205 

wanted  to  get  on.  I  used  to  have  them  in  my  rooms  to 
help  them.  With  the  others  I  found  it  best  to  keep  to 
work  alone.  I  got  more  out  of  them  that  way.  After 
school  hours  they  went  their  own  way  and  I  went 
mine." 

"  But  that  is  just  what  you  couldn't  do  in  a  private 
family,"  urged  Mrs.  Clinton.  "  You  wouldn't  have  to 
be  always  with  the  children,  but  you  would  be  much 
more  with  them  than  with  girls  you  taught  in  a  school." 

"Yes.  I  know  that,"  said  Miss  Phipp.  "Only  I 
don't  want  to  give  you  a  wrong  impression  of  my- 
self. I  would  do  my  best  to  make  friends  with  your 
girls,  only  I  fancy  it  would  rest  with  them  more  than 
with  me.  Some  teachers  find  it  quite  easy  to  have  girls 
hanging  on  to  them  and  adoring  them,  and  my  expe- 
rience is  that  work  suffers  on  account  of  it.  I  wouldn't 
go  anywhere  where  work  wasn't  the  chief  thing." 

When  she  had  gone  out  Mrs.  Clinton  said,  "  It  is 
really  very  puzzling.  I'm  not  at  all  sure  that  she 
wouldn't  do,  although  she  is  far  from  being  the  sort  of 
governess  I  had  pictured." 

"  We  shall  do  better,"  said  Lady  Birkett.  "  There 
are  plenty  more  to  see  yet." 

The  next  to  arrive  was  Miss  Judith  Gay,  twenty- 
three,  pretty  and  rather  shy,  daughter  of  an  admiral 
deceased,  perfect  French,  good  piano  and  singing, 
otherwise  not  up  to  the  mark  scholastically. 

"  If  it  were  only  a  companion  we  wanted ! "  said 
Mrs.  Clinton  when  she  had  gone  out. 

"  The  twins  would  love  her,"  said  Lady  Birkett,  "  but 
they  would  twist  her  round  their  little  fingers." 

Miss  Ella  Charman  was  the  next  arrival.  She  was 
thirty-four,  well  dressed,  and  talked  after  the  manner 
of  a  lady  of  fashion.  It  was  apparently  her  object 
to  set  both  Mrs.  Clinton  and  Lady  Birkett  thoroughly 
at  their  ease,  and  establish  intimate  relations  before 
coming  to  business.     "  I  have  never  been  in  that  part 


O06  THE    ELDEST   SON 

of  the  world,"  she  said  when  she  had  enquired  where 
Mrs.  Clinton  lived,  "  but  I  know  the  Palmers  very  well. 
I  think  they  live  in  Meadshire,  don't  they.?  " 

"  Not  in  our  part  of  Meadshire,"  replied  Mrs.  Clin- 
ton.    "  At  least  I  do  not  know  the  name." 

"  Oh,  you  would  know  them,  I  should  think,  if  they 
lived  near  you,"  said  Miss  Charman.  "  She  was  a 
daughter  of  Sir  James  Farley.  Lady  Farley  was  a 
sister  of  Mrs.  Bingham,  with  whom  I  lived.  Mr.  Bing- 
ham, you  know,  is  a  brother  of  Lord  Howley's.  Little 
Edward,  whom  I  taught  until  he  went  to  school,  will 
be  Lord  Howldy  some  day.  I  was  sorry  to  leave  the 
Binghams,  but  Edward  was  the  only  child,  and  had  to 
be  sent  to  school,  of  course.  Do  you  know  Lord  Dor- 
man,  Mrs.    Clinton  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  that  lady,  taking  up  a  letter,  "  you  have 
not  mentioned^ " 

"  I  thought  you  might,"  interrupted  Miss  Charman. 
"  He  is  only  a  new  creation,  of  course.  He  was  Sir 
John  Thompson,  the  engineer  or  contractor  or  some- 
thing ;  Mrs.  Cottering  told  me  that  he  had  paid  a  hun- 
dred thousand  pounds  into  the  funds  of  the  Liberal 
Party,  and  got  his  peerage  in  that  way.  The  Dormans 
were  very  anxious  that  I  should  go  to  them  and  take 
sole  charge  of  their  adopted  niece.  They  have  no 
children  living  of  their  own.  Mrs.  Dappering  told  me 
that  it  was  a  great  sorrow  to  them.  Their  only  son 
was  killed  in  the  war.  Do  you  know  Lady  Edith 
Chippering.?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Clinton.  "  Are  you  still  thinking 
of  going  to " 

"  She  was  a  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Havering.  I 
thought  you  might.  She  was  staying  with  the  Bing- 
hams  just  before  I  left  them.  She  did  say  something 
about  my  going  to  her.     Of  course  the  Dormans  would 

be  more By  the  way,  do  you  know  the  Lodderings  .?* 

Don't  they  live  in  Meadshire?" 


CHOOSING   A    GOVERNESS        ^07 

Mrs.  Clinton  did  not  answer  this  question.  "  I  have 
a  good  many  people  to  see,  Miss  Charman,"  she  said. 
"  I  think  we  had  better  talk  about — about  our  business, 
hadn't  we.?" 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  said  Miss  Charman.  "  Should  I 
have  my  meals  with  the  family  or  not.?  That  is  rather 
a  point  with  me.  At  the  Cotterings'  I  had  everything 
sent  up  and  lived  entirely  in  the  schoolroom,  which  1 
don't  think  a  good  arrangement.  One  gets  dull  and 
mop3',  you  know.  At  the  Binghams'  I  was  one  of  the 
family,  and  used  to  help  Mr.  Bingham  with  his  farm 
accounts  after  dinner;  in  fact,  he  used  to  call  me  his 
secretary.  He  would  look  after  everything  on  his  prop- 
erty himself.  Would  there  be  anything  of  that  sort 
I  could  help  Mr.  Clinton  in,  do  you  think.?  I  don't 
know  whether  he  has  landed  property  or  not,  but  I 
should  be  dehghted  to  do  anything  I  could  to  help 
him." 

"  You  were  asking  about  meals,"  said  Mrs.  Clinton. 
"  You  would  have  breakfast  and  luncheon  with  us,  and 
you  would  dine  upstairs.  Now  will  you  kindly  tell  me 
what  subjects  you  can  teach.?  " 

"Oh,  the  usual  subjects,"  said  Miss  Charman.  "I 
am  a  Bachelor  of  Arts  of  London  University,  you  know, 
honours  in  French  and  mathematics.  And  there  are 
the  training  certificates.  You  have  all  that,  haven't 
you.?  I  got  Hilda  Cottering  into  Girton.  Her  father 
didn't  want  her  to  go.  With  all  that  money  coming 
he  thought  it  was  waste  of  time.  But  she  was  a  clever 
girl,  and  we  used  to  do  a  great  deal  of  work,  and  have 
a  great  deal  of  fun  besides.  She  married  young 
Spencer-Morton,  you  know,  the  nephew  of  Lord  Pick- 
ering. Do  you  know  the  Pickerings,  by  any  chance.?  " 
And  so  it  went  on,  and  would  have  gone  on  inter- 
minably had  not  Mrs.  Clinton  at  last  risen  and  held  out 
her  hand  as  token  of  dismissal.  Miss  Charman  retired 
affably,  saying  that  she  supposed  she  should  hear  in  a 


208  THE   ELDEST    SON 

clay  or  two.  She  knew  Mrs.  Clinton  must  get  through 
her  list  first,  but  she  should  be  glad  to  come  to  her,  and 
she  would  no  doubt  let  her  know  the  date  later  on. 

When  she  had  left  them  the  two  ladies  looked  at  one 
another  and  laughed.  "  How  delighted  Edward  would 
be  with  that  flow  of  conversation !  "  said  Lady  Birkett. 
"  It  would  be  worth  while  engaging  her  if  only  to  see 
his  face  when  she  asked  him  if  he  knew  the  Potterings." 
"  Miss  Phipp  is  the  only  possible  one  so  far,"  said 
Mrs.  Clinton. 

Miss  Margaret  Cunningham  was  the  next.  Twenty- 
five,  with  an  excellent  record,  nice-mannered  and  good- 
looking,  but  the  unfortunate  possessor  of  a  cockney  ac- 
cent of  remarkably  pungency.  She  had  been  a  "  dyly  " 
governess  only,  in  "  Straoud  "  Green,  where  she  lived, 
but  her  father  had  married  again  and  she  was  not  happy 
at  home.  Her  father  was  Scotch.  "  I  don't  think  Pve 
got  his  accent,  though,"  she  said,  with  a  smile.  If  she 
had  she  might  have  beaten  Miss  Phipp  out  of  the  field. 
Her  own  made  her  impossible. 

Miss  Clara  Weyerhauser  was  young,  but  spectacled, 
short-haired  and  mannishly  clothed.  "Edward  would 
roar  the  house  down  if  I  took  her  to  Kencote,"  said 
Mrs.  Clinton,  when  the  tale  of  her  numerous  attain- 
ments had  been  extracted  from  her  and  she  had  stamped 
out  of  the  room. 

"  It  seemed  odd  that  she  should  keep  her  hat  on  in 
the  house,"  said  Lady  Birkett. 

Miss  Mary  Mansell  was  too  nervous,  Miss  Gladys 
Whiting  too  delicate-looking  to  make  it  likely  that  they 
could  cope  successfully  with  the  twins.  Then  came 
Miss  Jessie  Barton.  She  was  forty-two,  and  looked 
older,  a  lady  by  birth  and  in  speech  and  manner,  but 
poorly  dressed,  thin  and  worn.  She  had  been  teaching 
for  over  twenty  years  in  good  famihes,  and  had  the 
best  of  references  to  show  from  each,  but  admitted,  with 
^  flush  on  her  pale  cheeks,  that  she  bad  left  her  last 


CHOOSING   A    GOVERNESS        209 

place,  over  a  year  before,  because   the  girls   she  had 
taught  wanted  a  finishing  governess. 

"  Bnt  that  is  just  what  I  want  for  my  girls,"  said 
Mrs.  Clinton. 

"  Ah,  but  they  are  younger,"  she  said  eagerly. 
**  Really,  I  am  sure  I  could  get  them  on  well,  Mrs. 
Clinton.  And  I  am  as  strong  and  active  as  ever  I 
was,  and  much  more  experienced.  I  am  just  coming 
to  the  time  when  it  will  be  difficult  to  get  work,  and 
if  I  don't  get  work  I  must  starve.  I  have  no  home  to 
go  to  now,  and  very  few  friends." 

"  I  know  those  are  the  hardships  of  your  calling," 
said  Mrs.  Clinton  gently.  "  But  I  can't  let  them  weigh 
with  me,  can  I.'^  I  must  do  the  best  I  can  for  my 
children." 

"  Well,  I  think  a  woman  of  my  age  can  do  better 
for  them  than  a  younger  one  with  less  experience,"  said 
the  poor  lady.  "  I  do  hope  you  won't  let  my  age  stand 
in  the  way,  Mrs.  Clinton.  I  haven't  taken  a  day  off,  as 
some  women  do.     I  am  no  older  than  I  say." 

"  If  I  hadn't  been  ready  to  take  a  woman  of  your 
age,  other  things  being  equal,  I  shouldn't  have  asked 
you  to  come  and  see  me,"  said  Mrs.  Clinton.  "  But  I 
cannot  decide  anything  until  I  have  seen  every  one  I 
have  written  to." 

"  Ah  well !  "  she  said,  with  a  sigh.  "  I  know  you 
won't  choose  me,  or  you  would  have  told  me  more  about 
the  children,  and  what  you  wanted.  I  suppose  I  must 
go  on  with  the  weary  round  until  I  drop." 

"  It  is  very  depressing,  poor  thing !  "  said  Mrs.  Clin- 
ton when  she  had  gone.  "  But  I  can't  possibly  engage 
a  governess  out  of  motives  of  pity." 

"  She  would  be  all  right  for  younger  children,"  said 
Lady  Birkett.  "  It  is  hard  that  she  should  begin  to 
find  it  difficult  to  get  work  at  that  age." 

Miss  Gertrude  Wilson,  twenty-nine,  was  brisk  and 
business-like.     She  would  have  made  an  excellent  com- 


glO  THE   ELDEST    SON 

mercial  traveller,  taking  it  cheerfully  for  granted  when 
she  entered  a  shop  that  she  was  going  to  get  an  order, 
and  not  leaving  it  until  she  had  got  one.  It  was  she 
who  asked  the  questions,  not  in  the  manner  of  Miss 
Charman,  obsessed  by  her  own  personality  and  experi- 
ences, but  rather  like  a  doctor,  anxious  thoroughly  to 
diagnose  a  case  so  that  he  might  do  the  best  he  could 
for  his  patient. 

"  Now  I  should  like  to  know,  first  of  all,"  she  said, 
"  what  the  characters  of  your  girls  are  like,  Mrs.  Clin- 
ton.    Then  one  can  form  some  idea  as  to  how  to  treat 

them." 

"  They  are  physically  active,"  said  Mrs.  Clmton ; 
''mentally  too,  especially  Nancy,  who  has  developed 
greatly  within  the  last  year.  She  is  a  clever  child,  and 
is  beginning  to  take  a  great  interest  in  books,  and  I 
think    one   might   say   in   everything   she   finds    inside 

them." 

"  Ah,  a  student !  "  said  Miss  Wilson.  "  One  ought 
not  to  let  her  overdo  that  at  her  age,  although  one 
must  take  pains  to  encourage  her  in  anything  she  wants 
to  take  up,  and  try  and  concentrate  her  upon  it.  I 
don't  believe  much  in  desultory  reading.  I  should  feel 
inclined  to  curb  that.  But  that  is  not  quite  what  I 
want  to  know.  I  can  deal  with  all  that  when  I  see  the 
girls.  It  is  their  dispositions  I  want  to  get  at.  Are 
they  bright  as  a  general  rule,  or  inclined  to  be  sub- 
dued.?" 

"  Not  at  all  inclined  to  be  subdued,"  said  Lady  Bir- 
kett,  with  a  laugh. 

"Not  spoilt,  I  hope.?"  asked  Miss  Wilson.  "If 
they  are,  please  say  so.  I  can  deal  with  them  all 
right." 

"  I  don't  think  they  are  spoilt,"  said  Mrs.  Clinton. 
"  They  are  both  affectionate,  and  easily  managed  by 
any  one  they  love.  They  are  apt  to  be  mischievous, 
perhaps,  although  they  are  growing  out  of  that  now. 


CHOOSING   A    GOVERNESS         211 

They  are  rather  overfond  of  making  fun  of  people, 
but  I  think  no  one  would  call  them  ill-natured.'' 

"  Well,  that  is  a  very  satisfactory  report  on  the 
whole,"  said  Miss  Wilson.  "  I  expect  1  shall  get  fond 
of  them.  I  generally  do  get  fond  of  my  pupils,  and 
they  of  me.  May  I  ask  what  other  members  of  your 
family  there  are,  Mrs.  CHnton — brothers  or  sisters, 
older  or  younger.'^  " 

"  Joan  and  Nancy  are  the  only  ones  regularly  at 
home,"  replied  Mrs.  Clinton. 

"  Oh !  No  brothers  at  school  coming  home  for  the 
holidays.'^  " 

"No,"  said  Mrs.   Clinton. 

"  It  is  apt  to  make  things  difficult  sometimes.  Girls 
get  out  of  hand.    Are  there  older  brothers,  may  I  ask.'^  " 

"  Yes,  but  you  would  see  little  of  them.  Miss  Wil- 
son.    You  need  not  take  them  into  account." 

By  the  look  of  Miss  Wilson's  face,  it  might  have 
been  gathered  that  she  would  have  preferred  to  take 
them  into  account,  at  any  rate  to  the  extent  of  hearing 
a  little  more  about  them.  But  her  momentary  dejection 
disappeared.  She  had  to  keep  her  control  of  the  situa- 
tion. "  And  now  as  to  hours,"  she  said.  "  My  plan 
would  be  to  work  the  whole  of  the  morning,  with  per- 
haps a  quarter  of  an  hour  off  for  a  glass  of  milk  and  a 
rock  cake  or  something  of  that  sort — say  from  nine 
o'clock  to  lunch  time ;  exercise  and  games  in  the  after- 
noon, till  four.  Then  three  hours'  work,  with  tea  in 
between,  and  I  should  expect  the  girls  to  do  an  hour 
or  so's  preparation  later  in  the  evening.  They  do  not 
dine  with  you,  of  course." 

"  They  come  down  to  dessert,"  said  Mrs.  Clinton. 

"  That  would  be  about  eight  o'clock,  I  suppose.  We 
can  just  fit  in  the  other  hour  before  they  go  to  bed. 
I  should  like  them  to  go  to  bed  not  later  than  half- 
past  nine,  and " 

"  I  like  them  to  go  to  bed  at  nine,"  Mrs.  Clinton  man- 


n2  THE    ELDEST    SON 

aged  to  break  in.  "  And  they  would  not  do  any  work 
after  they  have  come  downstairs ;  there  would  not  be 
time." 

"  Oh,  well,  we  can  settle  all  that  later,"  Miss  Wilson 
handsomely  conceded.  "  I  shall  do  my  very  best  to 
get  them  on,  Mrs.  Clinton.  Wednesdays  and  Saturdays 
I  suppose  we  shall  have  half -holidays,  or  do  you  prefer 
a  whole  holiday  on  Saturday?  Perhaps  we  had  better 
settle  that  later  too ;  it  is  all  one  to  me.  I  shall  do  my 
best  to  fit  in  with  the  ways  of  the  house.  Shall  you 
wish  me  to  take  my  meals  downstairs  ?  " 

"  Breakfast  and  luncheon,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Clinton. 
"  You  would  dine  in  the  schoolroom." 

Miss  Wilson's  face  again  fell.  But  she  said,  "  That 
will  suit  me  very  well.  I  shall  have  time  for  my  own 
reading  when  the  children  have  gone  to  bed.  When 
shall  you  wish  me  to  come  ?  " 

"  If  I  engage  you,  about  the  tenth.  Now  I  should 
like  to  ask  you  a  few  questions,  if  you  are  ready  to 
answer  them." 

The  cross-examination  Miss  Wilson  undei-went  as  to 
her  scholastic  attainments  and  previous  experience,  at 
the  hands  of  both  ladies,  was  somewhat  searching,  and 
she  came  through  it  admirably.  She  was,  in  fact,  the 
ideal  governess,  as  far  as  could  be  seen.  And  yet, 
neither  of  them  liked  her,  and  they  would  have  been 
pleased  rather  than  regretful  to  find  some  flaw  which 
would  give  them  an  excuse  to  reject  her.  "  Well,"  said 
Mrs.  Clinton  at  last,  "  I  have  others  to  see,  but  I  will 
take  up  your  references  and  write  to  you  in  a  few  days. 
You  have  given  me  all  the  addresses,  I  suppose.?  "  She 
took  up  Miss  Wilson's  letter,  which  was  shorter  than 
the  rest,  confining  itself  to  one  sheet  of  note-paper. 

"  Yes,  you  will  find  them  there,"  said  Miss  Wilson, 

rising  a  little  hurriedly.     "  Then  I  shall  hope  to  hear 

from  you,  and  I  will  say  good-morning,  Mrs.  Clinton." 

Mrs.  Clinton  ignored  her  outstretched  hand.    "  I  will 


CHOOSING    A    GOVERNESS         213 

just  pencil  the  dates  at  which  you  were  with  these  three 
families,"  she  said.     "  Mrs.  Waterhouse  was  the  first." 

"  Oh,  I  am  very  bad  at  dates,"  said  Miss  Wilson. 
"  But  they  are  all  in  order.  You  will  have  no  diffi- 
culty." 

Mrs.  Clinton  looked  at  her  in  mild  surprise.  "  Surely 
you  remember  the  number  of  years  you  were  with  each 
family,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say  I  can  remember  that,"  she  said, 
with  a  rather  nei'vous  laugh.  "  I  was  with  Mrs.  Water- 
house  about  three  years,  Mrs.  Simkinson  one  and  a  half, 
I  think  it  was." 

"  That  is  all  I  wanted  to  know,"  said  Mrs.  Clinton, 
but  Lady  Birkett  asked,  "  Are  those  three  all  the  posts 
you  have  filled.''  " 

Miss  Wilson,  who  was  still  standing,  drew  herself 
up  stiffly.  "  I  was  with  some  other  people  for  about 
a  year,"  she  said.  "  But  they  were  intensely  disagree- 
able people,  and  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  have  to  rely 
on  a  testimonial  from  them.  They  behaved  atrociously 
to  me." 

"  In  what  way?  "  asked  Mrs.  Clinton. 

"  I  prefer  not  to  say,"  said  Miss  Wilson  firmly.  "  I 
have  no  wish  to  talk  about  those  people  at  all.  I  only 
wish  to  forget  them.  If  you  will  take  up  the  references 
I  have  given  you  I  think  you  will  know  everything  about 
me  that  you  have  a  right  to  ask,  and  you  will  find  it 
thoroughly  satisfactory ;  and  anything  else  I  shall  be 
pleased  to  tell  you." 

"  I  think,  then,  I  must  ask  why  you  left  these  people. 
Were  they  the  last  you  were  with.'*  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Wilson,  "  they  were ;  and  the  whole 
subject  is  so  painful  to  me  that  I  must  refuse  to  go 
into  it." 

"You  will  not  give  me  the  name,  so  that  I  can  at 
least  hear  their  side  of  the  story?  " 

"  Certainly  not,  Mrs.  Clinton,"  replied  Miss  Wilson 


214  THE    ELDEST   SON 

indignantly.  "  If  those  are  the  only  conditions  on 
which  I  may  accept  your  offer,  then  I  must  refuse  it 
altogether." 

"  I  haven't  made  you  an  offer  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Clin- 
ton, "  and  of  course,  under  the  circumstances,  I  cannot 
do  so.     So  I  will  wish  you  good-morning." 

Miss  Wilson  seemed  about  to  say  something  more, 
but  changed  her  mind  and  left  the  room  with  her  head 
in  the  air. 

The  two  ladies  looked  at  one  another.  "  What  on 
earth  can  it  have  been.'*  "  asked  Mrs.  Clinton. 

"  Carrying  on,"  replied  Lady  Birkett,  with  a  laugh. 
"  I  can  see  it  now.  She's  the  sort  that  carries  on.  The 
details  we  must  leave  to  the  imagination,  but  we're  well 
rid  of  her." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

MRS.    CLINTON    IN    JERMYN    STREET 

It  was  about  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening.  Mrs.  Clin- 
ton stood  for  a  moment  on  the  pavement,  on  which  the 
light  of  a  street  lamp  shone  and  was  reflected  from  the 
wet  stone,  and  paid  her  cabman.  Then  she  turned  to 
the  tall  dull  house  and  rang  the  bell.  In  this  house, 
in  one  of  the  narrow  streets  just  off  St.  James's,  Dick 
had  had  rooms  for  many  years,  but  his  mother  had 
not  been  able  to  correct  the  cabman  when  he  had  first 
stopped  at  a  wrong  number.  She  had  time  to  reflect 
on  this  fact  before  the  door  was  opened  to  her.  Cap- 
tain Clinton  was  not  in,  said  the  man,  but  he  generally 
came  in  to  dress  not  later  than  half-past  seven ;  and  she 
said  she  would  go  to  his  room  and  wait. 

The  hall  was  narrow  and  dimly  lighted.  On  a  table 
under  a  tiny  gas-jet  were  a  dozen  or  so  of  bedroom 
candlesticks,  and  hanging  on  the  wall  a  rack  for  letters 
and  telegrams.  The  stairs  were  darklj'  druggeted.  The 
man  opened  a  door  on  the  first  floor,  turned  on  the  light 
and  retired,  and  she  found  herself  in  a  furnished  apart- 
ment such  as  is  occupied  by  men  of  fashion  in  London. 
There  was  nothing  to  mark  it  off"  from  superior  fur- 
nished apartments  anj'where.  The  furniture  was  of  the 
solid  Victorian  type,  the  paper  on  the  walls  ugly,  the 
carpet  of  a  nondescript  colour.  There  was  a  gilt  clock 
on  the  mantelpiece  and  two  coloured  glass  vases.  The 
pictures  had  no  value  or  beauty.  On  a  marble-topped 
sideboard  were  a  collection  of  gloves,  caps,  and  hats, 
the  silk  ones  beautifully  ironed  and  brushed,  and  on  the 
sofa  were  two  or  three  carefully  folded  overcoats.  These 
were  all  that  spoke  of  Dick's  occupancy  of  the  roomsj, 

215 


216  THE    ELDEST    SON 

on  which  otherwise  he  had  made  no  sort  of  personal 
impress  in  a  tenancy  ranging  over  twelve  years.  There 
were  no  books,  and  not  even  a  photograph  belonging 
to  him.  Yet  he  paid  the  rent  of  a  good  house  for  this 
room  and  a  bedroom  behind  the  grained  and  varnished 
folding-doors,  and  was  quite  content  with  them.  There 
was  no  bathroom  in  the  house,  and  he  had  to  go  out 
for  all  his  meals  except  breakfast;  but  he  was  valeted 
as  well  as  if  he  had  been  at  home. 

Mrs.  Clinton  sat  down  in  an  easy-chair  before  the 
fire  and  looked  around  her  once,  her  gaze  resting  for 
a  minute  on  the  closed  doors  between  the  two  rooms. 
She  might  have  wished  to  see  what  sort  of  bedroom  Dick 
occupied,  but  she  did  not  do  so.  She  sat  still  and  waited 
for  half  an  hour,  and  then  Dick  came  in.  She  heard 
him  humming  an  air  as  he  ran  upstairs,  but  when  he 
entered  the  room  and  saw  her,  half  risen  from  her  chair 
to  receive  him,  he  stopped  short  in  utter  surprise. 
"  Why,  mother !  "  he  exclaimed,  and  for  a  moment  his 
face  was  not  welcoming.  Then  he  came  forward  and 
kissed  her.  "  Whatever  wind  blows  you  here  ?  "  he  asked 
lightly. 

"  I  am  staying  with  Eleanor  Birkett,"  she  said.  "  I 
have  come  up  to  engage  a  governess  for  the  children." 

"  Time  to  break  them  in,  eh?  "  he  said.  "  How  are 
the  young  rascals?  Still  raking  in  coins  for  their 
camera?  " 

She  allowed  herself  a  faint  smile.  "  They  are  very 
well,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  shall  we  go  and  have  a  little  dinner  some- 
where together,  or  are  you  dining  in  Queen's  Gate?  " 

"  I  said  I  might  not  be  back  to  dinner,"  she  said. 
"  I  didn't  know  whether  you  would  be  engaged  or  not." 

"  No,  I  was  going  to  dine  at  the  club.  That's  capi- 
tal. I'll  just  go  and  shift,  if  you  don't  mind  waiting, 
and  in  the  meantime  you  consider  what  Epicurean  haunt 
you  would  like  to  go  to."     He  went  into  his  bedroom, 


MRS.    CLINTON    IN    JERMYN    ST.    217 

giving  her  no  time  to  say  anything  further  if  she  had 
wished  to,  and  left  her  to  sit  by  the  fire  again  and  wait 
for  him. 

He  came  out  again  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  during 
which  time  she  had  heard  splashings  and  movements, 
but  no  further  humming  of  airs.  "  Verrey's,  I  think," 
he  said.  "  You'll  want  to  go  somewhere  quiet, 
eh?" 

"  Dick,"  she  said,  "  I  should  like  to  have  a  little  talk 
with  you  before  we  go  out." 

He  was  already  putting  on  his  scarf.  "  Let's  dine 
first,  mother,"  he  said.  "  It's  just  upon  eight,  and  I'm 
hungry.  We  can  come  back  here  afterwards,  if  you 
like." 

Perhaps  it  was  better  that  he  should  dine  first,  espe- 
cially if  he  was  hungry.  "  Very  well,"  she  said,  and 
rose  to  go  with  him. 

Driving  through  the  streets,  sitting  over  their  din- 
ner for  an  hour,  and  driving  back  again,  nothing  was 
said  between  them  of  what  was  certainly  occupying  Mrs. 
Clinton's  mind,  and  must  have  been  in  Dick's.  It  was 
difficult  for  her  to  talk;  they  had  so  little  in  common 
besides  the  externals  of  home  life,  and  at  every  turn 
in  the  conversation  something  came  up  that  must  not 
be  said  if  there  was  to  be  no  mention  yet  of  the  only 
thing  that  mattered  at  Kencote.  But  Dick  seemed  de- 
termined that  there  should  be  no  mention  of  it,  and  by 
and  by  they  got  on  to  the  subject  of  the  twins  and  their 
new  governess,  and  then  the  conversation  was  easier. 
She  told  him  about  the  ladies  she  had  interviewed,  and 
he  laughed  at  her  descriptions  of  them.  "  Capital, 
mother !  "  he  said.  "  You  ought  to  write  it  all  down." 
He  was  pleased  with  her.  She  was  entertaining  him, 
where  he  had  thought  she  would  be  a  drag  on  his  well- 
meant  eflTorts  to  entertain  her.  And  because  he  was 
very  well  disposed  towards  her,  it  was  gratifying  to  be 
able  to  feel  that  they  were  getting  on  happily  together. 


218  THE    ELDEST    SON 

His  manner  became  warmer  as  the  dinner  proceeded,  re- 
flecting his  feeHngs,  which  also  became  warmer.  They 
had  some  quite  sensible  conversation  about  the  twins  and 
their  education.  Dick  thought  that  the  governess  who 
had  taught  in  the  High  School — Miss  Phipp — was  the 
right  one.  "  They  want  discipline,"  he  said.  "  That's 
what's  missing  in  girls'  education,  especially  when  they 
are  taught  at  home.  It  won't  do  those  young  Avomen 
any  harm  to  be  made  to  grind  at  it.  I'm  for  the  school- 
marm,  mother." 

As  they  waited  for  a  minute  for  a  cab  to  be  calletl 
up  to  take  them  back  to  Jermyn  Street,  Dick  said,  look- 
ing at  her  appreciatively,  "  What  a  pretty  gown  that 
is,  mother !  I've  never  seen  it  before."  She  flushed  with 
pleasure,  but  said  nothing.  He  handed  her  into  the 
cab,  and  took  his  seat  beside  her.  "  We  must  have  an- 
other little  evening  together  before When  are  you 

going  back,  by  the  by.^  " 

"  To-morrow,"  she  said. 

"  What  a  pity !  Can't  you  stay  till  the  next  day, 
and  come  and  do  a  play.?  I've  got  to-morrow  night 
free." 

But  she  said  she  must  go  back,  and  he  did  not  press 
her  further. 

When  they  reached  Dick's  rooms  and  got  out  of  the 
cab  he  told  the  man  to  wait  and  then  turned  to  the 
door  with  his  latch-key  in  his  hand.  "  Please  send  him 
away,"  said  ^Irs.  Clinton.  "  I  came  on  purpose  to  have 
a  talk  with  you,  Dick." 

"  You  needn't  hurry  away,  mother,"  he  said.  "  But 
you  will  want  a  cab  by  and  by  to  go  home  in." 

"  I  shan't  feel  comfortable  while  the  minutes  are  tick- 
ing away,"  she  said.  "  You  can  get  me  another  one 
presently." 

Dick  laughed  at  her,  but  he  paid  the  cabman,  and 
they  went  up  to  his  room  together. 

"  Now,  then,  little  mother,"  he  said,  as  he  took  off'  his 


MRS.    CLINTON    IN    JERMYN    ST.    219 

overcoat  and  scarf,  "  let's  have  it  out.  I'll  mix  myself 
a  little  liquid  refreshment,  and  if  you  don't  mind  my 
smoking  a  cigar,  I  shall  be  in  a  mood  to  give  you  my 
whole  attention." 

Now  that  the  time  had  come  to  speak  she  was  nerv- 
ous, and  did  not  kiiow  how  to  begin.  Dick,  apparently 
thoroughly  at  his  ease,  good-humoured  with  her,  but 
not  prepared,  it  seemed,  to  take  her  very  seriously,  lit 
another  cigar,  poured  himself  out  whisky  and  undid 
the  wire  of  a  soda-water  bottle  before  she  spoke,  and 
as  she  was  beginning  he  spoke  himself.  "  I'm  going  to 
be  married  next  month,"  he  said ;  "  will  you  come  to  my 
wedding.^  "  As  he  spoke  the  cord  of  the  soda-water 
bottle  flew  out  with  a  pop,  and  he  said,  "  Steady  now, 
steady !  " 

There  was  a  pause,  filled  only  with  the  sound  of  the 
water  gurgling  into  the  glass.  Then  Mrs.  Clinton 
spoke.  "  Oh,  Dick !  "  she  said,  "  why  do  you  treat 
me  like  this.?" 

He  threw  a  glance  at  her,  half  furtive.  He  had 
never  heard  her  speak  in  that  tone.  She  was  looking 
at  him  with  hurt  eyes.  "  I  am  your  mother,"  she  said. 
*'  Do  you  think  I  have  no  feeling  for  my  children  ?  Have 
I  been  such  a  bad  mother  to  you  that  it  is  right  to  put 
me  aside  as  if  I  were  of  no  account  when  a  crisis  comes 
in  your  life?  " 

He  walked  to  the  chair  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
fire  to  hers,  his  glass  in  his  hand,  and  sat  down.  There 
was  a  frown  on  his  face.  Like  his  father,  he  hated  a 
scene,  unless  it  was  one  of  his  own  making,  and  especially 
he  hated  a  scene  with  a  woman.  But  it  was  true  that 
he  had  treated  his  mother  as  if  she  were  of  no  account. 
In  the  presence  of  the  pain  which  her  face  and  her  voice 
had  shown,  he  felt  a  sense  of  shame  at  the  easy  mastery 
he  had  displayed  towards  her  during  the  evening,  put- 
ting her  wishes  and  her  feelings  aside,  thinking  only 
that  it  was  rather  tiresome  of  her  to  have  intruded  her- 


220  THE    ELDEST    SON 

self   into   his    plans,    and    that   her   intrusion    must  be 
repelled  with  as  little  disturbance  as  possible. 

She  spoke  again  before  he  could  reply  to  her.  "  You 
are  always  very  charming  to  me,  Dick — on  the  surface. 
You  treat  me  with  the  greatest  possible  politeness,  al- 
ways, as  you  have  done  this  evening.  I  know  that  many 
young  men  do  not  behave  with  such  courtesy  towards 
their  mothers,  especially  those  who  do  not  live  in  the 
same  world  as  they  do.  But  that  charming  behaviour 
is  a  very  poor  return  for  what  a  mother  does  for  her 
children  when  they  are  wholly  dependent  on  her.  You 
used  to  come  to  me  with  all  your  troubles  when  you 
were  a  little  boy,  Dick.  Am  I  so  changed  that  you 
must  shut  me  out  of  your  life  altogether,  now.''  " 

Conflicting  emotions  caused  him  intense  discomfort. 
"  No,  mother,  no,"  he  said.     "  But " 

She  took  him  up.  "  But  you  don't  want  me  any 
longer,"  she  said,  "  and  you  haven't  enough  kindness 
in  you  to  think  that  I  may  want  you." 

Underneath  her  smooth-flowing  speech  there  was  bit- 
terness, almost  cruelty ;  certainly  cruelty,  if  deliberately 
to  pierce  self-satisfaction  is  cruel.  For  if  there  were 
any  qualities  in  Dick  against  which  he  might  have 
thought  that  no  accusation  could  lie,  they  were  his  atti- 
tude towards  women  and  the  essential  kindness  of  his 
heart.  But  she  had  shown  him  that  external  courtesy 
towards  her  had  only  hidden  a  deep  discourtesy,  and 
his  kindness  was  base  metal,  not  kindness  at  all. 

But  she  had  aroused,  if  not  resentment,  opposition. 
Her  words  had  stung.  If  she  wanted  anything  from 
him,  that  was  not  the  way  to  get  it.  "  Oh,  come  now, 
mother,"  he  said,  with  some  impatience.     "  I " 

But  she  would  not  let  him  go  on  until  she  had  said 
all  that  she  had  to  say.,  "  If  you  don't  care  for  me, 
Dick,  if  you  have  lost  all  the  love  you  had  for  me  when 
you  were  a  child,  then  I  know  it  is  of  no  use  saying 
these   things.      Words   can't  bring  back   love,  nor   re- 


MRS.    CLINTON    IN    JERMYN    ST.    221 

proaches.  And  after  all,  it  wasn't  about  myself  that  I 
came  here  to  speak  to  you.  Your  indifference  has  caused 
me  pain,  but  I  should  not  have  taxed  you  with  it  now ; 
I  should  have  kept  silence  as  I  have  done  for  many 
years,  if  it  had  not  been  that  my  love  for  you  has  been 
there  ready  for  you  if  you  had  ever  wanted  it,  and  I 
thought  you  might  want  it  now.  But  I  can  do  nothing 
to  help  you  if  you  won't  let  me  a  little  way  into  your 
heart.  I  must  just  stand  aside  and  see  the  breach  be- 
tween you  and  your  father  widen,  when  it  might  be 
healed,  and  you  could  restore  him  to  happiness  as  well 
as  take  your  happiness  yourself." 

Dick's  face  became  harder  as  she  mentioned  his  fa- 
ther, who  had  not  been  mentioned  between  them  during 
the  evening.  "  What  can  you  do  with  him.'^  "  he  asked, 
with  a  shade  of  scorn  in  his  voice.  "  He  is  utterly 
unreasonable.  He  gets  an  idea  into  his  head,  and  noth- 
ing will  get  it  out." 

Her  voice  was  softer  as  she  replied.  "  Dick  dear,  you 
know  that  isn't  true." 

He  stirred  uneasily  in  his  chair.  "  It  is  true  in  this 
case,"  he  said.  "  I  suppose  you  mean  that  as  a  rule 
if  you  give  him  his  head  about  anything  you  can  pull 
him  up  and  make  him  go  the  other  way  if  you  treat  him 
carefully.  I  know  you  can,  as  a  rule.  This  is  an  un- 
fortunate exception  to  the  rule." 

"  You  have  driven  him  into  opposition  by  everything 
you  have  done,"  she  said.  '^  If  you  had  been  a  little 
patient " 

"  Oh,  I  was  as  patient  as  possible,  at  first,"  he  inter- 
rupted her.  "  But  he  went  beyond  everything.  The 
only  thing  was  to  go  away  until  he  had  come  to  his 
senses.  From  what  I  have  heard,  through  Walter, 
he  is  worse  than  ever.  He  is  going  to  cut  me  off  with 
a  shilling.  Well,  let  him.  I  can't  imagine  anything 
that  will  bother  him  more  during  the  rest  of  his  life 
than  to  have  the  prospect  of  Kencote  divided  up  after 


2^2  THE    ELDEST    SON 

his  death.  I  can't  imagine  him  thinking  of  such  a  thing.  . 
I'm  not  thinking  of  myself  and  what  I'm  going  to  get 
when  I  say  it's  a  wicked  thing  to  do.  He's  always 
looked  upon  the  place  as  a  sort  of  trust.  It  is  a  trust, 
and  he  is  going  to  betray  it  for  the  sake  of  scoring  off 
me.  He  must  know  that  a  threat  of  that  sort  would  be 
the  last  thing  to  move  me.  It  is  spite,  and  spite  that 
hurts  him  as  much  as  it  hurts  me." 
"  Oh,  Dick  !  Dick  !  "  she  said. 

He  gave  another  uneasy  hitch  to  his  body.  Her  gentle 
admonition  showed  him  as  no  argument  could  have 
shown  him  from  what  source  his  speech  had  come. 

"  Of  course  I'm  sore,"  he  said,  answering  her  implied 
reproach.  "  Any  man  would  be  sore  in  such  a  case.  I 
believe  you  have  seen  Virginia.  I  ask  you  plainly, 
mother,  if  you  are  on  his  side — the  sort  of  mud  he 
throws  at  her — you  know.     Because  if  you  are " 

"  No,  Dick  dear,"  she  said.  "  I  have  seen  her,  and 
I  am  not — not  on  his  side,  in  that." 

Her  words,  and  the  tone  in  which  they  were  spoken, 
softened  his  anger.  "You  would  welcome  her  as  my 
wife  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  would,"  she  said.  "  And  I  will,  Dick, 
when  this  trouble  is  over.  If  she  will  love  me  I  will  love 
her.     Yes,  I  have  seen  her,  twice." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  mother,"  he  said  quietly, 
after  a  short  pause. 

"  Dick,"  she  began  again,  "  you  know  your  father. 
You  know  how  unhappy  it  must  make  him  to  be  parted 
from  you.     You  are  bearing  very  hardly  on  him." 

"  And  he  on  me,  mother,"  said  Dick.  "  What  do  you 
want  me  to  do?  Give  up  Virginia.?  You  haven't  come 
here  to  ask  me  to  do  that  ?  " 

"  No,  not  that,  Dick." 

"  Or  to  wait  for  a  year?  That's  Walter's  scheme — 
at  least,  I  beheve  it's  Herbert  Birkett's.  Very  kind  of 
him  to  take  a  hand  in  the  discussion.     But  I'm  not  go- 


MRS.    CLINTON    IN    JERMYN    ST.    223 

ing  to  wait  a  year.  I'm  not  going  to  wait  any  time. 
Why  should  I.'^  If  I  make  concessions  of  that  sort  I'm 
giving  away  my  case,  I'm  admitting  that  there's  some 
sense  in  the  objections  made — some  reason  in  them. 
There's  none.  I  won't  submit  Virginia  to  the  indignity-. 
I'm  sorry  now  I  ever  got  her  down  to  ]\Icadshire.  I 
did  that  because  I  knew  what — wliat  his  prejudices 
would  be,  and  I  thought  he  should  have  a  chance  of  get- 
ting over  them." 

"  Then  you  did  think,  at  first,  that  there  was  some- 
thing to  be  said  for  his  prejudices." 

"  Er — yes — to  the  extent  that  if  I  had  put  it  baldly 
that  I  was  going  to  marry  a  widow,  an  American,  who 
had  been  for  a  time  on  the  stage — years  ago — although 
I  confess  I  didn't  think  that  would  be  known — there 
might  be  trouble.  I  thought  then,  and  I  think  now,  that 
if  he  had  given  her  a  fair  chance — if  he  had  got  to 
know  her,  he  couldn't  possibly  take  the  line  he  has. 
There  isn't  a  soul  down  there — I've  heard  all  about  it — 
who  isn't  at  her  feet.  It  makes  me  furious — I  hardly 
let  myself  think  about  it — that  he  should  behave  as  he 
does.  No,  mother,  it  has  gone  too  far.  There  is  noth- 
ing I  can  do  now,  after  all  that  has  happened,  that 
wouldn't  be  an  admission  of  weakness." 

She  did  not  speak  immediately.  "  Have  you  made  up 
your  mind,"  she  asked,  "  to  cut  yourself  off  from  all 
of  us — never  to  come  to  Kencote  again  until  your  fa- 
ther dies — never  to  see  him  again?  " 

"  When  I  am  married,"  he  said,  rather  sullenly,  "  he 
will  come  round — sooner  or  later." 

"  Not  to  make  the  first  advance,  Dick.  If  you  marry 
now,  without  his  consent,  definitely  against  his  wishes, 
he  will  make  the  alteration  as  to  the  succession  that 
he  has  threatened.  That  will  be  between  you.  He  will 
be  very  unhappy — for  the  rest  of  his  life — but  he  will 
have  taken  a  step  that  will  make  it  ten  times  more  diffi- 
cult for  you  to  come  together  than  it  is  now,  and — ■ — ".^ 


S24.  THE    ELDEST    SON 

"  As  far  as  the  alteration  in  his  will  goes,"  Dick 
broke  in  on  her,  "  I  have  thought  all  that  over.  As 
I  saj,  it's  a  step  he  has  no  right  to  take  under  the 
circumstances,  but  if  it  is  to  come,  if  I  am  to  come  into 
the  place — or  what's  left  of  it — with  my  wings  clipped 
for  money,  then  I  say  I'm  ready  to  face  it,  and  I  don't 
mind  as  much  as  I  thought  I  should.  Perhaps  I've 
thought  too  much  about  money — ^having  everything  cut 
and  dried,  and  nothing  to  do  for  it.  It  was  that  that 
made  me  make  the  mistake  of  getting  Virginia  to  go 
down  to  Blaythorn.  I  was  afraid  of  what  might  hap- 
pen— what  he  might  do.  It  was  rather  mean,  in  a  way. 
I  don't  care  w^hat  he  does.  At  least,  I  care,  but  it  isn't 
a  thing  one  ought  to  think  too  much  about.  Other  fel- 
lows work  to  give  their  wives  a  home.  I'm  going  to  do 
that,  and  I  like  the  idea  of  it." 

"  I  think  that  is  a  good  thing  to  do,"  she  said  rathei 
slowly.  "  But — well,  you  mustn't  mind  my  speaking 
plainly,  Dick — I  think,  too,  that  in  your  case  you  may 
make  too  much  of  it.  I  mean  that  your  mind  is  probably 
full  of  it  now,  and  it  is  a  great  relief  to  you  that  you 
have  found  a  way  out  of  what  might  have  been  a  seri- 
ous difficulty,  and  that  you  are  not  dependent  on  your 
father  in  your  marriage.  But  there  is  Kencote  to  be 
thought  of.  You  are  the  eldest  son,  and  your  natural 
place  in  the  world  is  there.  At  present,  with  your  new 
happiness  coming  to  you,  you  are  able  to  detach  your 
mind  from  it.     But  when  the  novelty  of  your  new  life 

has  worn  off " 

"  Oh,  mother,  I  am  not  a  child,"  he  interrupted  her. 
"  I  know  there  is  Kencote  to  be  thought  of,  but  not  for 
many  years  yet — at  least,  I  hope  so.  And  if  I  am  to 
be  partially  disinherited,  you  know  " — he  looked  at  her 
with  a  smile — "  I  think  I  had  better  detach  my  mind 
from  it  as  much  as  possible,  don't  you.?  " 

Again  she  was  silent  for  a  time,  and  then  she  said, 
"  Do  you  remember  when  you  were  a  little  boy,  Dick, 


MRS.    CLINTON    IN    eJERMYN    ST.    225 

and  we  were  togetlicr  in  the  garden  one  summer  even- 
ing, and  I  was  telling  you  about  the  Clintons,  who  had 
lived  at  Kencote  for  so  many  hundreds  of  years,  and 
you  asked  me  why  some  people  lived  in  beautiful  places 
like  that  and  others  were  poor  and  had  no  nice  homes? 
And  your  father  had  come  out  to  join  us — he  was  a 
young  man  then — and  he  answered  your  question,  and 
told  you  that  things  were  arranged  like  that,  and  some 
day  Kencote  would  be  yours,  and  you  must  learn  to 
love  every  acre  of  it,  and  know  all  the  people  who  lived 
about  you  and  do  the  best  you  could  for  them  when  you 
were  grown  up  and  were  the  master  of  Kencote." 

"  Yes,  I  remember  quite  well,"  said  Dick.  "  It  was 
the  first  lesson  I  had  in  the  duties  of  a  landowner." 

"  We  were  very  happy  then,"  she  said.  "  We  used 
to  talk  over  things  together,  and  father  took  a  pride 
in  you,  and  did  all  he  could  to  make  your  childhood 
happy  and  make  you  take  a  pride  in  Kencote." 

"  Yes,  he  did,"  said  Dick.  "  He  gave  me  a  very  good 
time  as  a  boy.  And  so  did  you,  mother.  I  remember  our 
talks  in  the  garden  and  in  the  old  schoolroom,  and  going 
to  church  with  you,  and  about  the  village.  I  shall 
never  forget  those  days." 

"  You  grew  up  at  Kencote,"  she  said.  "  I  know  you 
have  always  loved  it,  and  have  come  home  to  us  when- 
ever you  could.  Dick,  you  can't  give  it  up,  and  give 
us  up,  your  parents  who  both  love  you.  You  will  make 
yourself  unhappy,  as  well  as  us." 

He  was  thoughtful  and  uneasy.  "  Of  course,  it's  a 
blow,"  he  said.     "  I  do  love  the  place." 

"  And  us  too,  Dick,  don't  you — a  little?  " 

"  Oh,  mother !  "  he  said.  "  You  have  always  been 
very  good  to  me.  Perhaps  I've  been  rather  a  brute  to 
you — taking  things  for  granted,  and  not  showing  that 
I  remembered.  I  do  remember,  you  know.  I  had  a 
good  time  as  a  child,  and  I  owe  a  lot  to  you." 

"  And  to  father  too,"  she  said.     "  Think  of  all  he 


226  THE    ELDEST    SON 

did  for  you  and  how  proud  he  has  always  been  of  you. 
He  has  made  a  mistake  now — I  think  he  has,  and  I  tell 
you  so — but,  Dick,  you  are  not  going  to  punish  him — 
and  me  and  yourself — ^by  destroying,  for  always,  every- 
thing that  keeps  us  united  as  a  family?  " 

Again  he  moved  uneasily.  "  Well,  what  on  earth  am 
I  to  do?  "  he  asked.     "  I've  told  you  what  I  feel  about 

it  all." 

"  Well,  don't  you  feel  exactly  as  your  father  does  ? 
Aren't  you  acting  just  as  you  blame  him  for  acting? 
Don't  you  see  how  like  you  are  to  him  in  many 
ways  ?  " 

"  The  poor  old  governor ! "  said  Dick.  "  I'm  sorry 
for  him  in  a  way.  But  I  hope  I  don't  act  with  quite  such 
disregard  for  common  sense  as  he  does." 

"  You  act  from  pique.  He  thinks  you  are  in  the 
wrong,  and  won't  give  way,  although  he  would  like  to. 
And  you  think  he  is  in  the  wrong  and  you  won't  move 
towards  him.  There's  something  better  even  than  com- 
mon sense,  Dick,  which  he  shows  and  you  don't.  It  is 
love." 

"  I  don't  think  you  can  reasonably  say  he  has  shown 
me  much  of  that  lately,  mother,"  said  Dick. 

"  You  keep  away  from  him,"  she  said.  "  If  you  were 
to  come  home  you  would  see  how  he  has  been  longing 
for  you,  and  you  would  be  sorry  for  him.  Even  if 
people  wrong  us,  if  they  love  us  and  we  see  it,  it  is  not 
difficult  to  forgive  them.  If  you  would  come  home  I 
think  all  your  anger  would  disappear,  however  much 
you  may  think  you  are  justified  in  it.  I  have  never 
seen  your  father  so  unhappy  and  so  troubled.  For  his 
sake,  Dick,  for  the  sake  of  all  that  he  has  done  for  you, 
come  home  to  us.  That  was  what  I  came  here  to  ask 
of  you." 

He  was  silent  for  some  time,  struggling  with  him- 
self. "  I'll  come,"  he  said  shortly,  "  but  you  must  tell 
him,  mother,  that  I  am  going  to  be  married  soon.     I 


MRS.    CLINTON    IN    JERMYN    ST.    227 

can't  come  to  enter  into  that  question  again  with  him. 
It  is  settled." 

"  Very  well,"  she  said  quietly,  and  there  was  silence 
between  them  for  a  time. 

"  And  now  tell  me  of  your  plans,  Dick,"  she  said 
presently  in  a  lighter  tone.  "  You  must  remember  that 
I  have  heard  nothing,  and  I  want  to  hear  everything." 

"  Oh,  I'm  going  up  to  Yorkshire  next  week  to  get 
the  house  ready.  Virginia  is  coming  with  me  and  we 
are  going  to  stay  with  Spence.  It  is  a  nice  old  stone 
house  with  a  big  garden  and  a  view  of  the  moors,  and 
the  sea  beyond.  Look  here,  mother,  can't  you  do  any- 
thing? You  have  brought  me  round,  you  know.  I'm 
going  to  do  what  you  want,  against  my  own  inclina- 
tions. I  shan't  be  very  comfortable  at  Kencote.  Can't 
you  go  and  see  Virginia  .^  It's  rather  hard  luck  for  her, 
poor  girl,  to  be  treated  as  if  she  were  a  pariah  by  all 
my  people.  Something's  owing  to  her,  and  a  good  deal, 
I  think." 

"  I  should  like  very  much  to  know  her,"  she  said. 
"  Whether  I  can  go  definitely  against  your  father's 
wishes,  whether  I  should  do  any  good  by  doing  so,  is 
a  difficult  question  to  decide." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  can  see  that,"  he  said.  "  You 
have  got  to  live  with  him.  But  if  we  are  to  make  it  up 
at  all,  he  and  I,  which  I  own  I  haven't  much  hope  of, 
there'll  have  to  be  give  and  take  on  both  sides.  You 
ought  not  to  get  me  down  to  Kencote  and  then  take  his 
part  against  me." 

"  We  must  wait  a  little,"  she  said.  "  What  I  can 
do  I  will  do.  Oh,  Dick  dear,  I  am  so  glad  you  are  going 
to  be  happy.     I  have  thought  about  you  such  a  lot." 

He  came  over  to  her  and  kissed  her.  "  You're  a  good 
little  mother,"  he  said.  "  I  wish  I'd  carried  you  off 
bodily  to  see  Virginia  when  she  first  went  down  there. 
You  would  have  got  on  well  together." 

"  Oh,  and  we  shall,"  she  said,  "  as  soon  as  these  un- 


228  THE    ELDEST    SON 

happy  difficulties  are  over.  Now  I  shall  go  back  home 
with  a  quiet  mind.  I'm  sure,  Dick,  if  you  are  patient 
with  your  father,  all  the  difficulties  will  melt  away.  It 
rests  with  you,  dear  boy,  and  I'm  sure  you  will  act 
wisely.  Now  I  must  be  going  back,  if  you  will  send  for 
a  cab  for  me." 

"  I'll  take  you  back,"  said  Dick.     "  I  want  to  tell 
you  all  about  everything,  mother." 


CHAPTER  XX 

AUNT    LAURA    INTERVENES 

For  an  old  lady  who  did  not  enjoy  the  best  of  health, 
who  had  lived  all  her  life  in  an  atmosphere  of  congenial 
companionship  and  now  lived  alone,  who  had  no  place  of 
importance  to  fill  in  the  world,  and  small  occupation 
except  what  she  made  for  herself,  Aunt  Laura  passed 
her  days  in  unusual  contentment. 

The  life  of  an  old  maid  blessed  with  a  sufficiency  of 
this  world's  goods  is  a  cheerful  if  rather  pathetic  object 
of  contemplation.  You  would  think  they  missed  so 
much,  and  they  seem  to  miss  so  httle.  There  is  nothing 
that  seems  much  worth  their  doing,  unless  they  are 
particularly  gifted,  and  yet  they  are  always  busy.  If 
you  had  paid  a  visit  to  Aunt  Laura  at  any  time  of  the 
day  you  would  never  have  found  her  sitting  with  her 
hands  in  her  lap,  idle,  unless  it  happened  to  be  at  those 
times,  after  a  meal  or,  as  she  would  say,  between  hghts, 
when  a  short  period  of  contemplation  was  as  ordered  a 
part  of  the  day's  duties  as  any  more  active  occupation. 
After  breakfast  she  would  be  busy  with  household  duties, 
"  ordering,"  or  passing  in  review  some  or  other  of  her 
possessions,  one  of  her  three  servants  in  attendance,  giv- 
ing her  whole  mind  to  it,  although  the  weakness  of  her 
ageing  body  made  it  incumbent  on  her  now  chiefly  to 
superintend  from  her  habitation  in  front  of  the  parlour 
fire.  Sometimes  she  was  induced  to  stay  in  bed  until 
the  morning  was  well  advanced,  but  it  was  a  great  trial 
to  her.  "  If  the  mistress  is  not  about,"  she  would  say, 
"  all  the  house  goes  to  pieces.  And  although  I  have 
good  and  trustworthy  servants,  who  have  been  with  me 
a  long  time,  things  go  wrong  if  they  are  left  too  much 

229 


230  THE    ELDEST    SON 

to  themselves."  So  even  when  in  bed,  she  would  sit 
propped  up  by  pillows  with  a  dressing- jacket  round  her 
shrunken  old  shoulders,  giving  her  orders  for  the  meals 
of  the  day  to  the  stout,  friendly  cook,  who  stood  by 
her  bedside  with  her  head  on  one  side  and  made  sug- 
gestions, w^hich  were  sometimes  accepted  and  sometimes 
overruled,  and  after  that  important  duty  was  over, 
go  through  the  linen  with  Hannah,  the  parlour-maid,  or 
arrange  with  Jane,  the  housemaid,  what  room  should 
be  "  turned  out,"  and  when,  or  other  matters  of  like 
moment. 

Then  she  had  her  letters  to  write,  quite  a  number  of 
them,  considering  that  she  had  always  lived  at  Kencote 
and  knew  very  few  people  outside  it.  When  she  was 
quite  well,  and  the  weather  was  quite  fine,  she  would 
dress  carefully  and  potter  about  her  garden,  giving  mi- 
nute directions  to  the  gardener,  who  followed  her  about 
slowly,  and  took  all  she  said  in  good  part,  although  he 
went  his  own  way  afterwards.  Or  she  would  walk  out 
into  the  village,  leaning  on  Hannah's  arm,  sometimes  go 
up  to  the  great  house,  or  to  the  Rectory,  sometimes  into 
the  cottages  of  her  friends  amongst  the  villagers,  who 
were  always  pleased  to  see  her,  for  she  was  of  a 
charitable  disposition,  gave  what  rare  financial  aid  was 
required  of  her  in  a  community  where  no  one  was  poor, 
and,  what  was  valued  more,  ready  sympathy  and  interest 
in  trials  or  pleasures. 

After  luncheon  she  had  her  nap  and  her  needlework, 
or  a  book  from  the  library  at  Bathgate — one  a  week 
sent  over  to  lier  by  post — to  occupy  her.  Sometimes 
she  played  thin  little  pieces  of  music  on  the  thin  old 
piano.  Tea  was  an  event,  requiring  much  manipulation 
of  old  silver  teapots,  one  for  the  leaves  and  one  for  the 
brew,  and  when  she  had  company  much  pressing  of 
dainty,  unsubstantial  viands.  After  tea  there  were 
needlework  and  reading  again  until  it  was  time  for  her 
supper-tray.     She  had  given  up  dining;  her  luncheon 


AUNT   LAURA   INTERVENES      231 

was  her  dinner,  and  a  fairly  substantial  one.  She  talked 
a  good  deal,  in  quite  a  ladylike  way,  about  her  food. 
Her  state  of  health  was  gauged  by  whether  she  could 
"  fancy  "  it  or  not.  She  always  changed  her  gown  in 
the  afternoon,  and  wore  a  silken  shawl  instead  of  the 
Shetland  one  without  which  she  was  never  seen  in  the 
morning.  In  the  evening  she  spent  some  time  over  her 
devotions,  and  with  Hannah's  help  made  a  long  dis- 
robing, beginning  at  a  quarter  to  ten  and  ending  about 
half-past.  Then  at  last  she  lay  buried  in  the  down  of 
her  great  cumbrous  bed,  her  night-light  in  the  basin, 
her  glass  of  milk  and  her  biscuits  on  the  table  by  her 
side,  all  ready  for  those  long  dead  hours  during  which 
she  might,  if  she  were  in  perfect  health,  sleep  quietly, 
but  of  which  she  was  more  likely  to  spend  some 
patiently  waiting  for  the  blissful  state  of  unconscious- 
ness which  was  so  soon  to  close  down  on  her  for  all 
eternity. 

She  had  much  to  think  of  during  those  hours — scenes 
in  the  long-past  years  of  her  life  when  she  had  been 
young  and  active  and  had  lived  in  her  father's  house 
with  her  sisters,  or  during  the  later  but  still  far-off 
years  when  they  had  all  hved  together  at  the  dower- 
house  ;  of  the  quick  passage  of  time  which  had  brought 
age  to  them  and  robbed  her  of  one  after  the  other;  of 
those  she  loved  at  the  great  house ;  of  her  nephew's  early 
career,  which  seemed  to  her  a  most  distinguished  one; 
of  his  marriage ;  and  of  the  coming  of  the  dear  babies, 
and  of  their  growth  and  the  things  that  had  happened 
to  them.  Here  was  abundance  of  incident  to  provide 
food  for  a  mind  pasturing  on  memories — as  much  as 
if  she  had  known  the  great  world  and  taken  part  in  its 
many  activities,  instead  of  passing  her  blameless  days 
in  a  small,  secluded  sameness. 

Sometimes,  if  sleep  was  very  long  in  coming,  she 
would  say  over  to  herself  some  of  the  poetry  she  had 
learnt  by  heart,  or  some  of  her  favourite  passages  in 


23S  THE    ELDEST   SON 

the  Bible.  And  sometimes  she  would  pray.  Her  faitli 
was  simple  enough.  God  was  her  Father,  who  knew 
best  what  was  good  for  her,  and  had  a  sublime  tenderness 
for  her,  and  for  all  whom  she  loved.  Soon  she  would 
be  with  Him,  praising  Him  with  voice  and  harp  in 
Elysian  fields  and  in  endless  happiness,  joined  to  those 
who  had  gone  before,  who  were  waiting  for  her,  and 
probably  knew  all  that  she  was  doing  or  thinking.  Life, 
for  as  long  as  she  was  spared,  was  a  precious  gift,  and 
she  did  not  want  to  die;  but  she  looked  forward  with 
no  dread  to  dying  when  her  time  should  come.  She  was 
quite  convinced  that  death  was  only  a  passing  over, 
and  her  experience  of  death-beds  had  taught  her  that 
nothing  very  terrible  took  place  when  the  spirit  parted 
from  the  body.  She  would  cease  to  be,  and  she  would 
join  her  sisters  in  heaven;  and  whatever  pain  or  weak- 
ness should  come  to  her  before  her  departure  she  would 
have  strength  given  to  her  to  bear,  as  her  sisters  had 
borne  it. 

Since  she  had  come  to  live  alone  in  the  little  old  house 
in  the  village  Aunt  Laura's  wealth  had  considerably  in- 
creased. It  did,  now,  amount  to  wealth,  for  she  lived 
on  less  than  half  her  income,  which  at  the  time  of  her 
sister's  death  had  amounted  to  something  like  two  thou- 
sand pounds  a  year. 

Her  father  had  left  her  and  her  sisters  six  thousand 
pounds  apiece,  and  there  had  been  six  of  them  when  they 
had  first  moved  down  to  the  dower-house.  He  had  com- 
mitted this  rather  extraordinary  piece  of  generosity  be- 
cause shortly  before  his  death  he  had  inherited  intact 
the  considerable  fortune  of  his  brother,  who  had  been 
a  merchant  in  the  City  of  London,  as  his  father  had 
been  before  him.  Merchant  Jack,  of  whom  Aunt  Laura 
had  spoken  to  Susan  Clinton,  had  inherited  Kencote  as 
a  younger  son,  had  passed  on  the  estates  and  his  own 
acquired  store  of  money  to  his  eldest  son,  Colonel 
Thomas,  and  his  business  to  his  younger  son,  John  Clin- 


AUNT   LAURA    INTERVENES      233 

ton,  who  had  lived  and  died  a  bacheh)r,  having  little  use 
for  the  wealth  he  amassed,  beyond  that  part  of  it  which 
enabled  him  to  live  in  solid  comfort  in  his  old  house  in 
Bloomsbury  and  lay  down  a  cellar  of  fine  wine,  the 
remainder  of  which  still  shed  a  golden  glow  over  the 
cobwebby  bins  at  Kencote.  The  thirty-six  thousand 
pounds  with  which  Colonel  Thomas  portioned  his  daugh- 
ters had  still  left  the  great  bulk  of  this  windfall  to  go 
with  the  estate,  to  go  rather  to  the  next  heir,  who  was 
Edward,  our  Squire. 

The  Squire  had  succeeded  at  the  age  of  nineteen  to  a 
large  fortune,  as  well  as  to  many  thousands  of  acres 
of  land,  and  was  a  much  richer  man  than  even  his  sons 
suspected.  He  cared  little  about  money,  or  if  he  cared 
for  it,  it  was  not  for  the  aggrandisement  it  might  have 
brought  him.  He  had  an  income  far  in  excess  of  what 
was  required  to  keep  up  his  estabhshment  and  his  prop- 
erty in  the  way  he  wanted  to  keep  it  up,  and  what  was 
left  over  he  had  no  further  use  for.  '  He  had  simply 
allowed  it  to  accumulate,  investing  the  overplus  of  year 
after  year  in  gilt-edged  securities  on  the  advice  of  his 
old-established  firm  of  stockbrokers,  whose  forebears 
had  also  advised  his,  and  not  giving  it  a  thought  when 
it  was  once  so  disposed  of.  The  bulk  of  his  funded 
property  came  from  the  money  which  his  great-uncle 
had  bequeathed  to  his  grandfather,  and  some  of  it  was 
still  invested  in  the  securities  which  the  shrewd  old  mer- 
chant had  himself  selected.  It  was  this  money  out  of 
which,  after  his  widow  and  younger  children  had  been 
handsomely  provided  for,  Dick  would  inherit  the  sum 
necessary  to  enable  him  to  live  at  Kencote  as  he  himself 
had  done — if  Dick  behaved  as  he  should  behave.  Other- 
wise it  w^ould  go — well,  he  had  not  yet  made  up  his  mind 
where  it  would  go. 

Now,  if  the  jointure  of  the  six  maiden  aunts  had 
been  chargeable  on  the  estate,  as  it  would  have  been  but 
for  the  old  merchant's  bequest,  only  on  a  much  lower 


234  THE    ELDEST    SON 

scale,  the  Squire  would  no  doubt  have  busied  himself 
about  it,  would  have  known  exactly  what  proportion  of 
it  was  being  spent  and  what  saved,  and  might  have  had 
some   suggestion   to   make  as  to  the  disposal  of  what 
should  remain   after   the  death  of  the  last  sister  had 
caused  it  to  revert  to  the  estate.     As  it  was,  he  hardly 
ever  gave  it  a  thought.     He  knew  that  his  aunts  were 
well  off,  but  he  did  not  know  what  sum  had  been  left 
to  them,  although  he  could  easily  have  informed  himself 
of  it  if  he  had  cared  to.     Nor  did  he  know  how  Aunt 
Laura,  in  whose  frail  hands  the  whole  of  it  had  now 
come  to  lie,  proposed  to  leave  it.     It  would  not  be  quite 
true   to    say    that    he   had   never    given   the   matter    a 
thought,  but  it  wo  aid  not  be  far  from  the  truth.   He  had 
so  much  more  than  sufficed  for  his  own  needs  that  al- 
though  he    would   be   gratified   if   after   Aunt   Laura's 
death    he    found    himself    richer    by    several    thousand 
pounds,  the  legacy  would  not  actually  do  for  him  more 
than  shghtly  increase  his  lightly  borne  business  cares. 
It  would  go  eventually  to  the  children,  and  the  amount 
of  speculation   he   had  ever   expended   on   the   subject 
was  as  to  whether  it  would  come  first  to  him,  or,  by 
Aunt  Laura's  direct  bequest,  to  them,  as  to  which  he 
did  not  care  either  the  one  way  or  the  other.     The  pos- 
sibility of  its  being  left  outside  the  family  altogether 
never   so   much  as   crossed  his  mind,  because  he  knew 
Aunt  Laura  quite  well  enough  to  know  that,  as  to  the 
bulk  of  it,  there  was  no  such  possibility. 

Happy  Aunt  Laura,  to  have  been  permitted  to  es- 
cape the  siege  which  is  not  seldom  laid  against  rich 
maiden  aunts!  And  happy  Clintons,  to  have  escaped, 
both  in  youth  and  age,  those  complications  which  the 
lack  of  plentiful  coin  brings  into  the  lives  of  so  many 
of  their  fellow-creatures ! 

But  perhaps  they  had  not  altogether  escaped  them. 
It  was  doubtful,  as  yet,  whether  the  Squire,  who  was 
jiow  thinking  of  using  his  riches  as  a  weapon  in  a  way 


AUNT    LAURA    INTERVENES      235 

In  which  he  had  never  had  to  think  of  using  them  be- 
fore, was  the  happier  for  having  that  weapon  ready 
to  his  hand.  Money  was  for  the  first  time  playing  its 
part  in  Dick's  life  in  a  way  the  outcome  of  which  was 
still  to  be  seen.  Humphrey,  at  least,  had  never  had 
enough  of  it  to  do  what  he  wished  to  do,  and  was  be- 
coming increasingly  hungry  for  more.  And  Aunt 
Laura,  lying  sometimes  for  hours  on  a  sleepless  bed, 
was  beginning  to  be  a  little  worried  about  her  responsi- 
bilities as  the  steward  of  a  considerable  fortune,  concern- 
ing whose  disposition  she  had  to  come  to  a  decision 
before  she  could  peaceably  leave  this  world  for  a  better 
one,  in  which  money  and  the  anxiety  attendant  on  it 
would  play  no  part. 

She  was  surprisingly  innocent  about  money,  although 
amongst  the  six  sisters  she  had  been  considered  the 
financial  genius,  and  from  the  first  had  kept  all  the 
accounts.  "  Dear  Laura,"  Aunt  Ellen  had  been  used 
to  say,  "  has  a  wonderful  head  for  pounds,  shillings, 
and  pence.  Her  accounts  are  never  out  by  so  much 
as  a  farthing,  and  she  would  be  an  ideal  wife  for  a  poor 
man,  such  as  a  clergyman,  with  a  fixed  but  limited 
income." 

She  remembered  this  as  she  lay,  now,  in  the  night, 
turning  over  in  her  mind  this  question  of  money,  and 
remembered  it  with  pride.  She  remembered  how  upon 
their  father's  death  old  Mr.  Pauncey,  the  Bathgate 
solicitor,  who  was  so  old-established,  and  had  had  such 
a  long  connection  with  Kencote  that  he  might  be  re- 
garded almost  as  an  equal,  and  only  treated  with  the 
merest  shade  more  of  consideration  than  one  of  the 
county  neighbours,  had  explained  to  them  all  in  con- 
clave exactly  what  their  financial  position  was,  and  how 
the  sum  that  had  been  left  to  each  of  them  was  Invested. 
He  had  had  a  sheet  of  paper  with  him,  from  which,  after 
taking  snuff,  he  had  read  out  a  long  list  of  securities, 
and  figures,  and  percentages,  and  left  them  at  the  end 


236  THE    ELDEST   SON 

of  it  mentally  gasping  for  breath,  and  no  wiser  at  all 
than  they  had  been  before. 

Then  it  was  she,  the  youngest  of  them  all,  who  had 
summoned  up  courage  to  say,  "  I  think,  Mr.  Pauncey, 
if  you  would  tell  us  exactly  what  sum  of  money  is 
brought  in  by  all  those — those  things,  we  could  make 
our  arrangements  accordingly." 

She  could  see  now,  in  the  darkness,  the  admiring 
looks  of  her  sisters  bent  upon  her,  and  hear  the  ready 
acquiescence  of  Mr.  Pauncey,  as,  with  gold  pencil-case 
in  his  hand,  he  made  some  rapid  calculations,  and  gave 
her  the  figures  required. 

After  that  it  was  she  who,  with  pencil  in  hand,  sec- 
retary and  treasurer  to  a  most  serious  committee,  had 
set  down  on  paper  exactly  how  the  comfortable  income 
they  had  had  secured  to  them  should  be  spent — so  much 
for  the  housekeeping,  so  much  for  wages,  so  much  for 
stables,  garden,  dress,  charity,  and  so  on — a  delight- 
fully interesting  occupation,   as   she  well  remembered, 
although  readjustments  had  had  to  be  made  later,  and 
it  required  a  good  many  hours  a  week  with  account- 
books  and  paper  ruled  in  money  columns  to  keep  un- 
flinchingly to  the  course  laid  down.     "  Laura  is  busy 
with  accounts ;  she  must  not  be  disturbed.     The  amount 
of  trouble  she  gives  herself  to  keep  all  our  affairs  in 
perfect  order  you  would  hardly  credit."     She  remem- 
bered as  if  it  were  yesterday  sitting  in  the  oak  parlour 
on  a  warm  September  morning  with  the  casement  open 
and  a  scent  of  mignonette  coming  through  it,  and  over- 
hearing  her   eldest   sister   talking  to    the   old   Rector, 
so  many  years  since  in  his  grave,  and  the  thrill  of  hap- 
piness that  the  words  had  brought  to  her,  struggling 
with   her   task   and   with   rows    of   recalcitrant   figures 
which  would  not  add  up  twice  alike. 

And  it  had  been  she  who  had  been  the  medium  of  all 
arrangements  with  old  Mr.  Pauncey,  who  had  been 
most  attentive  in  coming  over  himself  at  frequent  inter- 


AUNT   LAURA   INTERVENES      237 

vals  to  explain  any  little  matter  that  wanted  explana- 
tion, and  had  never  changed  an  investment  for  them 
without  explaining  exactly  why  he  thought  it  ought 
to  be  changed,  and,  what  was  perhaps  more  important 
still,  giving  her  the  exact  alteration  that  would  be  made 
in  the  figures,  so  that  she  should  have  no  further  trou- 
ble with  her  accounts  than  was  necessary. 

After  a  bit  it  was  young  Mr.  Pauncey  who  had  at- 
tended to  their  affairs,  and  she  remembered  very  well 
that  on  the  occasion  of  his  first  visit  her  sister  Ellen  had 
considered  it  advisable  to  sit  in  the  room  while  he 
disclosed  the  business  upon  which  he  had  come  over. 

"  He  is  a  very  well-behaved  young  man,  my  dear," 
Miss  Chnton  had  said,  "  although  perhaps  not  the  equal 
of  his  father,  who  is  one  of  nature's  gentlemen.     But 

in  case  he  should  presume " 

Young  Mr.  Pauncey  never  had  presumed,  and  he 
looked  Tfter  Aunt  Laura's  property  to  this  day,  and 
would  continue  to  "  attend  on  her  ''  until  her  death,  if 
he  survived  her,  although  he  had  long  smce  devised  all 
his  other  professional  cares  to  his  son  and  grandson. 
She  rehed  greatly  on  young  Mr.  Pauncey's  advice,  and 
had  long  since  forgiven  him  for  the  slight  disturbance 
he  had  once  made  in  objecting  to  carry  out  certain  of 
their  decisions.  It  had  been  necessary  for  Aunt  Anne, 
upon  whom  it  had  always  devolved  to  say  the  word  that 
would  put  people  in  their  places  when  that  word  had 
to  be  said,  to  end  the  discussion  with  a  speech  that 
shook  a  little  in  the  middle:  "Mr.  Pauncey,  we  have 
asked  you  to  come  here  to  take  our  instructions.  It 
will  save  time  if  you  will  kindly  write  them  down   at 


once." 


How  splendid  dear  Anne  had  been  on  that  occasion- 
quite  polite,  but  quite  firm  !  And  young  Mr.  Pauncey, 
it  had  afterwards  been  agreed,  had  behaved  admirab  y 
too  With  a  courteous  smile  he  had  said,  "  Very  well, 
ladies,  I  will  sav  no  more,"  and  had  then  helped  them 


238  THE    ELDEST    SON 

most  lucidly  to  put  their  decision  into  proper  form, 
and  had  since  admitted  handsomely  that  their  carefully 
considered  plan  had  worked  well,  adding  that  he  had  felt 
himself  obliged  to  criticise  it,  entirely  in  their  own 
interest. 

A  trust  had  been  formed  with  young  Mr.  Pauncey, 
in  whom,  as  they  assured  him,  they  had  complete  confi- 
dence, as  sole  trustee.  The  six  separate  estates  were 
pooled  and  the  income  from  the  whole  capital  could  be 
drawn  on  by  the  cheque  of  any  of  the  six  beneficiaries. 
The  disadvantage  of  this  scheme,  as  young  Mr.  Pauncey 
had  ventured  to  point  out  at  the  time,  was  that  if  any 
one  of  them  quarrelled  with  the  other  five,  or  got  mar- 
ried, it  was  in  her  power  to  cause  them  considerable  in- 
convenience by  appropriating  more  than  her  share  of 
the  income,  or,  if  she  wrote  her  cheques  at  the  right 
moment,  the  whole  of  it.  It  was  at  this  point  that  Aunt 
Anne  had  interposed  with  her  famous  speech,  and  young 
Mr.  Pauncey  had  ceased  to  make  objections,  probably 
consoling  himself  with  the  reflection  that,  as  trustee, 
he  could  put  an  end  to  the  inconvenience  at  any  time 
that  it  should  arise. 

But  the  sisters  had  never  quarrelled  and  none  of  them 
had  married,  and  young  Mr.  Pauncey  at  the  age  of 
seventy-five  was  obliged  to  admit  to  himself  that  the 
most  highly  irregular  arrangement  he  had  ever  legalised 
had  also  turned  out  to  have  worked  with  the  least  pos- 
sible amount  of  friction.  No  further  adjustments  had 
had  to  be  made  as  one  sister  after  the  other  had  died ; 
none  of  them  had  made  a  will  or  had  needed  to;  and 
Aunt  Laura,  the  last  survivor,  was  now  in  automatic 
possession  of  the  whole,  as  all  the  sisters  had  wished 
that  the  last  survivor  should  be.  "  We  are  agreed," 
Aunt  Ellen  had  said  in  conclave,  "  that  the  bulk  of  the 
money  shall  go  back  to  dear  Edward,  or  to  his  chil- 
dren if  he  marries  and  has  any ;  let  the  last  of  us  who 
is  left  alive  carry  out  our  joint  wishes  without  being 


AUNT    LAURA    INTERVENES      239 

tied  up  by  promises  or  papers.  That  to  my  mind  Is  the 
ideal  arrangement.  Circumstances  may  arise  which  we 
cannot  now  foresee.  Let  the  one  of  us  who  is  spared 
longest  have  power  to  deal  with  them,  under  the  kind 
advice  of  young  Mr.  Pauncey,  if  he  also  is  spared 
so  long,  and  not  be  hampered  by  what  is  called  red 
tape." 

And  so  the  passing  away  of  one  sister  after  another 
had  not  been  harassed  by  questions  of  property,  and  it 
was  not  until  Aunt  Ellen  the  eldest  and  Aunt  Laura  the 
youngest  had  been  left  alone  together  that  any  discus- 
sion at  all  had  arisen  as  to  the  disposal  of  the  money 
which  they  shared.  They  had  talked  of  it  together, 
and  had  called  young  Mr.  Pauncey  into  advice. 

Young  Mr.  Pauncey,  now  a  little  deaf  and  a  little 
feeble  in  body,  though  not  in  brain,  and  as  courteous 
and  helpful  as  ever,  had  advised  that  the  money  should 
be  equally  divided  amongst  the  Squire's  younger  chil- 
dren. "  There  are  six  of  them,"  he  had  said  very  hap- 
pily, "just  as  there  were  six  of  you  ladies.  Mr.  Clin- 
ton would  probably  dispose  of  it  in  that  way  if  you 
were  to  leave  it  to  him,  and  I  shall  not  be  betraying 
confidence  if  I  say  that  Captain  Clinton  is  already  very 
handsomely  provided  for." 

So  it  had  been  agreed  upon  provisionally,  but  the 
question  of  making  a  will  had  been  left  in  abeyance,  and 
later  on  it  had  been  thought  that  Cicely  might  possibly 
have  rather  more  than  the  others,  because  Jim  was  not 
too  well  off,  owing  to  those  wicked  death  duties,  and 
later  still  that  Dick,  perhaps,  ought  to  have  some, 
because  they  were  not  supposed  to  know  what  would  be 
done  for  him,  and  they  would  not  like  him  to  feel  him- 
self left  out  in  the  cold;  and  by  and  by  that  it  might 
be  better,  after  all,  to  ask  Edward  to  decide  the  matter 
himself.  But  nothing  had  been  done.  Aunt  Ellen  had 
died,  and  Aunt  Laura  had  postponed  coming  to  a  deci- 
sion at  all  for  two  years  past,  thinking  over  the  mat- 


240  THE    ELDEST    SON 

ter  occasionally,  but  never  finding  herself,  as  she  ex- 
pressed it,  "  guided." 

Now  she  had  begun  to  feel  that  she  must  come  to  a 
decision,  and  the  guidance,  in  a  dim  sort  of  way,  seemed 
to  be  making  itself  felt.  She  had  never  had  any  par- 
ticular favourite  amongst  her  nephew's  children.  Cicely 
would  have  been  the  favourite  if  she  had  not  been  a 
girl,  for  she  had  been  much  with  her  aunts  before  her 
marriage,  and  there  had  been  more  community  of  inter- 
est with  her  than  with  the  rest.  But  it  was  impossible 
to  put  a  girl  Clinton  before  a  boy  Clinton,  and  her  claim 
bulked  no  larger  than  those  of  Dick,  Humphrey,  Wal- 
ter, or  Frank.  And  hitherto,  except  in  the  case  of  Dick, 
there  had  seemed  to  be  no  reason  for  preferring  one  of 
the  boys  before  the  other. 

But  lately  Aunt  Laura  had  become  considerably  at- 
tached to  Humphrey,  whom,  in  the  past,  she  had  per- 
haps liked  least  of  all  the  boys,  although  she  would  not 
have  admitted  r.s  much  to  herself.  He  had  been  much 
away  from  Kencote,  and  had  seemed  so  "  grand  "  in  his 
ways  and  ideas  that  she  had  been  a  little  nerv^ous  of  him 
on  the  rare  occasions  on  which  he  had  visited  her.  But 
lately,  she  thought,  he  had  "  softened."  He  must  have 
felt,  she  told  herself  with  a  tremulous  gratification,  that 
she  was  the  last  of  all  his  great-aunts  left,  that  she  would 
not  be  much  longer  with  them,  and  that  attention  to  her, 
although  it  could  not  bring  him  anything,  would  be 
deeply  appreciated,  as  indeed  it  had  been.  He  had  been 
so  very  kind,  cheering  up  her  rather  lonely  days  with 
constant  visits,  whenever  he  had  been  at  home,  making 
her  those  little  presents  which,  because  they  showed  real 
appreciation  of  what  would  give  her  pleasure,  had  meant 
so  much  to  her,  and  latterly  taking  her  into  his  confi- 
dence and  telling  her  things  about  himself  of  a  sort 
which  no  man,  young  or  old,  amongst  her  relatives, 
or  indeed  outside  of  them,  had  ever  confided  to  her 
before. 


AUNT    LAURA    INTERVENES      241 

It  was  this  which  had  caused  her  such  intense  gratifi- 
cation. Throughout  the  wliolc  of  their  lives  she  and 
her  sisters  had  had  to  fight  against  the  feehng  that, 
although  they  were  kindly  treated,  and  even  deferred  to, 
by  the  members  of  their  little  world,  they  were  of  no 
real  account.  Slights,  which  had  not  been  intended 
for  slights,  had  sometimes  distressed  them,  and  they 
had  had  on  occasions  to  assure  each  other  that  nothing 
could  have  been  further  from  the  intention  of  those 
who  had  wounded  them  than  to  do  so.  To  ask  their 
advice,  to  prove  that  they  were  not  unimportant  mem- 
bers of  a  family  to  which  they  had  given  a  life-long 
allegiance — this  was  the  straight  way  to  their  hearts, 
and  it  had  seldom  been  taken.  All  the  kindnesses  that 
could  be  heaped  on  them  would  have  been  outweighed 
by  one  cry  for  succour  or  sympathy. 

That  cry  had  never  come — perhaps  there  had  been 
nothing  in  the  even  hves  of  their  relations  to  bring  it ; 
but  of  all  the  talks  she  had  ever  had  vrith  any  of  her 
great-nieces  and  nephews  Aunt  Laura  had  most  enjoyed 
those  which  she  had  lately  had  with  Humphrey,  for  they 
had  come  nearest  to  it. 

He  had,  indeed,  shared  a  secret  with  her.  He  was  in 
love,  and  nobody  in  the  family  knew  it  but  she.  And 
he  was  in  love  with  that  dear  nice  girl  who  had  come 
once  or  twice  to  see  her,  had  shown  her  more  than 
friendliness,  almost  affection,  and  made  for  herself  a 
warm  little  corner  in  a  warm  heart.  Susan  Clinton  also 
had  confided  in  her  a  little.  At  any  rate  she  had  per- 
mitted her  to  see  that  Humphrey's  feelings  for  her  were 
returned.  And  when  she  had  bid  her  farewell  she  had 
kissed  her  and  said,  "  I  have  loved  these  talks  with  you, 
Aunt  Laura," — yes,  she  had  called  her  that,  although, 
of  course,  the  relationship  was  a  very  distant  one — "  it 
is  so  nice  to  feel  that  one  has  a  friend  at  Kencote." 

But  falling  in  love  is  one  thing  and  getting  married 
— the  natural  result  of  falling  in  love — is  another ;  and 


S42  THE    ELDEST    SON 

Humphrey  had  confided  to  her  that  there  were  obstacles 
in  the  way  of  his  getting  married. 

Of  course,  although  Susan  Clinton  did  not  belong  to 
the  elder  branch  of  the  family,  facts  must  be  looked 
squarely  in  the  face,  and  the  daughter  of  an  earl,  even 
of  an  earl  of  no  great  wealth,  had  a  right  to  expect 
something  more  elaborate  in  the  setting  up  of  married 
life  than  a  girl  of  lesser  lineage.  Humphrey  very  sensi- 
bly saw  that.  "  I  can't  very  well  ask  for  her,  you  see, 
Aunt  Laura,"  he  had  said,  "  unless  I  know  that  I  can 
give  her  the  sort  of  thing,  more  or  less,  that  she  has  been 
accustomed  to." 

Aunt  Laura  had  quite  seen  it^  and  he  had  put  it  still 
more  clinchingly  when  he  had  said  on  another  occasion, 
"  You  see,  it  wouldn't  do  for  them  to  think  she  was 
taking  a  step  downward  in  marrying  me." 

Good  gracious,  no !  A  Clinton  of  Kencote  was  good 
enough  to  marry  anybody,  short  of  royalty.  Rich 
enough  too — or  ought  to  be — even  a  younger  son,  if 
the  marriage  was  a  desirable  one,  as  this  undoubtedly 
seemed  to  be.  "  I  think  your  dear  father  would  be 
pleased,"  she  had  said.  "  He  would  wish  that  all  of 
you  should  marry  in  your  own  rank  in  life,  and  he 
would  be  well  aware  that  that  cannot  be  done,  in  these 
days  when  married  life  seems  so  much  more  expensive 
than  it  used  to  be,  without  an  adequate  income.  I  think, 
dear  Humphrey,  that  I  should  tell  him  if  I  were  you,  and 
throw  yourself  on  his  generosity,  which  I  have  no  reason 
whatever  for  thinking  would  fail  you." 

Yes,  Humphrey  had  supposed  that  he  would  do  that 
sooner  or  later ;  in  fact,  he  would  have  to,  because  his 
profession  was  not  one  out  of  which  a  satisfactory  in- 
come could  be  made,  at  any  rate  in  its  early  stages.  Of 
course,  if  the  worst  came  to  the  worst  he  could  give  up 
his  profession,  and  take  to  something  else  out  of  which 
money  could  be  made. 

Aunt  Laura  had  resolutely  combated  this  idea.     His 


AUNT   LAURA    INTERVENES      S43 

profession  was  a  dignified  and  honourable  one.  She 
was  sure  that  he  would  make  his  name  at  it  and  rise 
very  high.  It  seemed  unfair  that  the  country  should 
pay  so  badly  for  such  important  work,  but  it  was  an 
undoubted  advantage  in  these  radical  days  to  have  men 
of  family  serving  their  country,  and  she  supposed  that 
if  diplomacy  was  a  career  out  of  which  money  could  be 
made  it  would  be  thrown  open  to  everybody.  It  was 
better  as  it  was,  and  at  any  rate  if  his  father  had  not 
been  wilhng  to  provide  for  him  he  would  not  have  put 
him  where  he  was.  She  saw  nothing  for  it  but  a  frank 
opening  up  to  him.  He  could  not  possibly  intend  that 
Humphrey  should  never  marry.  He  was  of  the  age  to 
marry,  and  the  marriage  he  proposed  was  satisfactory 
in  every  way. 

Humphrey  had  again  acquiesced,  but  lukewarmly, 
and  had  said  no  more  at  the  time. 

Later  on  the  reason  of  his  lukewarmness  and  air  of 
depression  had  come  out,  not  without  pressure  on  Aunt 
Laura's  part.  "  Well,  I'll  tell  you  how  it  is.  Aunt 
Laura,"  he  had  said,  "  as  you  are  so  kind  and  have 
listened  to  everything  I've  told  you.  One  hkes  unbur- 
dening one's  self  occasionally,  as  long  as  one  knows 
it  doesn't  go  any  further." 

Of  course  it  would  go  no  further.  Aunt  Laura  had 
told  him,  and  then  came  his  story.  He  had  been  ex- 
travagant. He  was  in  debt,  rather  heavily,  and  not  for 
the  first  time.  He  blamed  himself  very  much,  especially 
now  he  wanted  to  make  an  alteration  in  his  life  alto- 
gether, and  saw  how  important  it  was  to  keep  strictly 
within  one's  income.  His  father  had  been  good  about 
it — over  the  other  two  crises — but  she  would  see  that 
when  a  thing  like  this  had  happened  twice,  with  prom- 
ises of  amendment  each  time,  which  he  must  confess  had 
not  been  kept,  the  third  time  there  was  likely  to  be  a 
considerable  disturbance.  She  knew  what  his  father 
was.    He  would  be  much  upset — naturally — he  shouldn't 


S44  THE    ELDEST    SON 

blame  him.  He  would  most  likely  pay  his  debts  and 
start  him  again,  but  he  would  not  be  likely  to  pass  im- 
mediately from  such  an  undertaking  to  the  discussion 
of  a  large  increase  in  Humphrey's  allowance,  such  as 
would  enable  him  comfortably  to  contemplate  married 
life  with  a  wife  who  had  a  right  to  expect  as  much  as 
Susan.  He  thought  his  father  would  not  be  displeased 
with  the  marriage  and  not  averse,  eventually,  to  make 
it  possible  for  him.  If  only  these  wretched  debts  had 
not  been  hanging  round  his  neck  like  a  millstone — 
if  he  were  a  free  man — he  would  go  to  him  at  once.  As 
it  was — well,  he  was  in  a  mess,  and,  frankly,  he 
funked  it. 

Aunt  Laura,  listening  to  this  rigmarole,  and  gather- 
ing from  it  only  that  the  poor  boy  was  in  trouble, 
not  of  a  disgraceful  sort,  but  in  the  way  that  young 
men  of  good  birth  and  necessarily  expensive  habits  did 
get  into  trouble,  felt  a  warm  pleasure  rise,  increase,  and 
spread  itself  in  a  glow  all  over  her.  She  had  been 
deemed  worthy  of  this  affectionate  confidence,  which 
in  itself  would  have  caused  her  joy.  How  much  more 
so  when  she  felt  herself  capable  of  putting  an  end  to  it ! 
With  a  flush  on  her  withered  cheeks  and  a  light  in  her 
old  eyes  she  had  said,  "  I  am  so  sori-y  for  you,  dear 
Humphre}^  Could  you  tell  me — do  you  mind — how 
much  money  your  debts  amount  to.'^  " 

"  Oh !  "  Humphrey  had  said  in  an  offhand  manner, 
"  I  suppose  about  seven  hundred  pounds — no,  more — 
nearer  eight  hundred.  It's  a  lot,  I  know,  considering 
that  I  was  whitewashed  a  couple  of  years  ago ;  but — oh, 
well,  I  won't  make  excuses.  I've  been  very  extravagant, 
and  now  I've  got  to  pay  for  it." 

Then  Aunt  Laura  had  offered  to  pay  his  debts  for 
him,  and  he  had  at  first  refused,  laughing  at  her,  but 
expressing  his  surprise  and  deep  gratitude  at  the  same 
time,  then,  taking  the  offer  a  little  more  seriously,  said 
that  it  was  out  of  the  question,  because  his  father  would 


AUNT   LAURA  INTERVENES      5*5 

be  annoyed,  and  finally  when  she  had  told  him  that  his 
father  need  not  know,  that  it  would  be  a  little  secret 
between  them  two,  had  accepted  with  the  most  heartfelt 
expressions  of  gratitude,  which  touched  her,  now,  when- 
ever she  thought  of  them. 

She  had  written  him  a  cheque  there  and  then — for 
eight  hundred  pounds — and  he  had  joked  with  her  in  his 
amusing  way  about  her  having  such  a  large  sum  at  her 
immediate  disposal,  asking  if  she  was  quite  sure  that 
the  cheque  would  be  honoured,  because  it  would  never 
do  for  a  Clinton  to  run  any  risks  of  that  sort.  He 
had  seemed,  she  remembered,  really  surprised  that  she 
should  be  able  to  draw  a  cheque  for  so  large  a  sum, 
without  ever,  as  he  had  expressed  it,  turning  a  hair, 
and  she  had  explained  that  for  the  past  two  years  she 
had  not  spent  half  her  income,  and  that  a  large  balance 
was  lying  in  the  bank  to  her  credit,  which  young  Mr. 
Pauncey  had  lately  written  to  her  about  investing.  "  I 
have  not  been  quite  well  enough  to  want  to  talk  business 
with  him  for  some  time,"  she  had  said,  "  kind  and  con- 
siderate as  he  is,  and  I  think  it  must  have  been  ordained 
that  I  should  not  do  so,  for  when  I  did  say  that  I  should 
be  able  to  see  him  on  such  a  morning — oh,  I  suppose 
now  a  fortnight  ago,  or  perhaps  three  weeks — he  was 
not  well  himself  and  went  away  afterwards,  and  so  it 
got  put  off.  I  shall  tell  him  now  there  will  not  be  so 
much  to  invest  as  he  had  thought,  knowing  as  he  does 
about  what  my  expenditure  is,  and  I  need  not  say,  dear 
Humphrey,  how  glad  I  am  that  it  is  so,  for  I  do  not  want 
a  larger  income,  and  I  do  want  to  help  those  who  are 
dear  to  me." 

So  that  httle  episode  was  over  and  had  been  most 
agreeable  to  all  parties  concerned.  Humphrey  had  not 
yet  told  his  father  about  his  matrimonial  projects,  be- 
cause, as  he  had  explained  to  her,  his  debts  would  take 
a  week  or  two  to  settle  up,  and  he  did  not  want  to  make 
a  move  until  he  was  quite  clear.     But  he  had  come  down 


^46  THE    ELDEST    SON 

to  Kencote  again  in  the  meantime,  and  had  amused  and 
pleased  her  by  his  accounts  of  his  debt-paying  experi- 
ences, and  of  how  he  had  told  Susan  of  what  she  had 
done,  and  of  how  grateful  Susan  vras  to  her — for  they 
had  fixed  it  up  between  them  now.  "  Whatever  the  gov- 
ernor does  for  us,"  Humphrey  had  said,  "  we  shall  be 
able  to  get  along  somehow.  You  have  made  that  pos- 
sible, Aunt  Laura.  We  may  have  to  be  very  economical, 
but  with  a  clear  run  ahead  of  us  we  don't  mind  that. 
She  is  just  as  keen  now  to  keep  out  of  debt  as  I  am." 

And  the  end  of  their  talks  so  far  had  been  on  a  note 
of  still  further  possibiHty.  "  I  should  like  to  know," 
Aunt  Laura  had  said,  "  exactly  what  your  dear  father 
is  prepared  to  do  for  you,  Humphrey,  when  you  tell 
him.  When  I  know,  I  should  like  a  little  talk  with  him. 
For  I  may  be  able  to  help  matters." 


CHAPTER  XXI 


AN    ENGAGEMENT 


Mrs.  Clinton  reached  Kencote  in  the  dusk  of  the  Janu- 
ary afternoon  and  found  the  twins  on  the  platform 
awaiting  her.  With  the  station  staff  and  the  other 
passengers  in  the  train  as  audience,  they  gave  her  an 
all-embracing  and,  indeed,  somewhat  vociferous  wel- 
come, and  led  her  to  the  carriage,  one  on  each  side 
of  her,  with  little  squeezings  of  the  arms  and  continued 
expressions  of  joy. 

"  We  shan't  let  you  out  of  our  sight  again,  mother," 
said  Joan  as  they  drove  off.  "  It  has  been  perfectly 
awful  without  j^ou.  We  haven't  known  what  to  do  at 
all." 

"  I  hope  you  haven't  been  getting  into  mischief," 
said  Mrs.  Clinton,  with  an  indulgent  smile. 

"  We  have  been  as  good  as  gold,"  said  Nancy.  "  You 
would  hardly  have  recognised  us.  Haven't  you  noticed 
our  gardenias.'^  Humphrey  gave  them  to  us.  He  said 
they  were  the  white  flowers  of  a  blameless  life." 

"  Is  Humphrey  still  at  home?  "  Mrs.  Clinton  asked. 

"  Yes,"  said  Joan ;  "  and  something  has  happened, 
mother ;  we  don't  quite  know  what,  but  we  think  he  has 
got  engaged." 

"  Encased  !  "  exclaimed  their  mother. 

"  Yes.     Of  course  you  know  who  it  is." 

Mrs.  Clinton  thought  for  a  moment.  "  What  has  put 
the  idea  into  your  heads?  "  she  asked. 

"  Father  is  very  pleased  with  him,"  explained  Joan. 
"  And  that  is  the  only  thing  we  can  think  of  to  account 
for  it.     But  we  have  seen  it  coming  for  a  long  time." 

"  Well,   for   about   a   fortnight,"    corrected   Nancy. 

247 


248  THE    ELDEST    SON 

"  It's    Susan    Clinton,    of    course.      Do   you    like   her, 
mother?  " 

Mrs.  Clmton  did  not  reply  to  this  question,  and  Joan 
said,  "  We  are  prepared  to  give  her  a  sisterly  welcome." 

"  If  she  treats  us  well  we'll  treat  her  well,"  said 
Nancy.  "  And  we  like  the  idea  of  Mr.  Humphrey  and 
Lady  Susan  Clinton.     It's  so  Morning  Posty." 

"  I  think  you  are  running  ahead  a  little  fast,"  said 
their  mother.  "  Don't  you  want  to  hear  about  your 
new  governess  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes !  What  is  she  like  ?  "  exclaimed  the  twins 
in  one  breath. 

"  She  is  very  learned,  and  rather  severe,"  said  Mrs. 
Clinton.     "  You  will  have  to  work  very  hard  with  her." 

"  We  are  quite  ready  to  do  that,"  said  Nancy.  "  Is 
she  ornamental.'^  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  Mrs.  Chnton.  "  And  her  name 
is  Miss  Phipp.  She  is  coming  in  ten  days,  so  you  must 
make  the  best  of  your  holidays  until  then." 

Nancy  sighed.  "  Our  happy  childhood  is  over,"  she 
said.  "  No  more  will  the  house  ring  with  our  careless 
laughter.  In  ten  days'  time  we  shall  become  fevered 
students." 

"  I  hope  it  won't  be  quite  so  bad  as  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Clinton. 

The  Squire  was  waiting  at  the  door.  He  had  never 
before  kissed  his  wife  before  the  servants,  but  he  did  so 
now.  If  they  liked  to  go  away  and  talk  about  it  they 
might.  "  We'll  have  no  more  of  this  gadding  about," 
he  said  jovially.  "We  want  you  at  home,  don't  we, 
children  ^  " 

"  Rather,"  said  the  twins,  renewing  their  embraces ; 
and  Mrs.  Clinton  felt  that  there  was  nothing  lacking  in 
the  warmth  of  her  welcome. 

They  went  into  the  morning-room  where  the  tea-table 
was  already  set  and  the  kettle  boiling  over  its  spirit- 
lamp.     "  I  told  'em  to  bring  up  tea,"  said  the  Squire ; 


AN    ENGAGEMENT  249 

"  I  want  a  word  with  you.  Now  run  along,  children. 
You  can  talk  to  3'our  motlicr  afterwards." 

The  twins  obediently  retired.  "  He's  full  of  it,"  said 
Joan.  "  What  a  childish  pleasure  he  takes  in  a  piece 
of  news !  " 

"  If  it  is  as  we  believe,"  said  Nancy,  "  we  mustn't  call 
her  Silky  Susan  any  more." 

"  She's  all  right,  really,"  said  Joan,  "  if  you  get  her 
away  from  her  awful  old  mother." 

The  Squire,  left  alone  with  his  wife,  took  up  his  fa- 
vourite attitude  in  front  of  the  fire.  "  I've  got  a  piece 
of  news  for  you,  Nina,"  he  said.  "  What  would  you 
think  of  another  marriage  in  the  family  "^  " 

Mrs.  Clinton,  busy  with  her  tea-making,  looked  up 
at  him. 

"  I'm  pleased  about  it,"  said  the  Squire,  who,  warm- 
ing himself  in  the  Englishman's  citadel,  and  keeping 
away  the  fire  from  his  wife,  who  was  cold  after  her 
journey,  looked  thoroughly  pleased.  "  She's  a  nice 
girl,  although  I  can't  say  I  took  much  to  her  mother, 
and  don't  want  to  see  more  of  her  than  is  necessary.  It's 
Humphrey,  Nina — Humphrey  and  Susan  Clinton.  It 
seems  they've  taken  to  each  other,  and  if  I  can  make  it 
all  right  for  them,  they  want  to  get  married.  I'm  quite 
ready  to  do  my  part.  I'm  quite  glad  that  Humphrey 
wants  to  settle  down  at  last.  And  if  things  are  going 
wrong  in  other  quarters,  as  unfortunately  they  seem  to 
be,  this  will  make  up  for  it  a  little.  They  can  have 
the  dower-house,  and  if  an  heir  to  Kencote  comes  from 
this  marriage — well,  it  will  be  a  very  satisfactory 
arrangement." 

This  was  going  ahead  with  a  vengeance.  Mrs.  Clin- 
ton thought  of  Dick.  Was  he,  then,  to  be  finally  shoul- 
dered out  of  his  place,  and  Humphrey  installed  in  it, 
securely,  instead .f^  "  Would  he  give  up  his  profession.'^  " 
she  asked. 

"We  haven't  talked  about  it  yet,"  said  the  Squire. 


^50  THE   ELDEST   SON 

"  But  that  is  my  idea.  I  want  somebody  here  to  help 
me,  and  if  Dick  has  decided  to  cut  the  cable,  then  we  had 
better  face  facts  and  arrange  matters  accordingly." 

His  face  changed  as  he  mentioned  his  eldest  son. 
That  wound  still  rankled,  but  it  was  plain  that  the 
salve  was  already  working.  "  I  have  done  my  best," 
he  said,  "  and  it  has  all  been  no  good.  Now  what  we 
have  to  do  is  to  forget  all  about  it  and  do  what  we  can 
in  other  directions.  Walter's  a  good  boy,  although  a 
bit  headstrong  and  obstinate.  Still,  he's  made  his  own 
life  and  is  happy  in  it,  and  I  will  say  for  him  that  he's 
never  given  me  any  serious  trouble.  I've  had  that  with 
Humphrey.  He  has  been  extremely  tiresome  about 
money  matters,  and  I  own  that  I  thought  there  was 
another  storm  of  that  sort  blowing  up,  and  haven't 
been  quite  so  friendly  towards  the  boy  as  I  might  have 
been.  I'm  sorry  for  it  now,  and  I'll  make  up  for  it; 
for  he  tells  me  he  doesn't  owe  a  single  penny." 

Mrs.   Clinton  looked  up  in  surprise.     "  Did  he  tell 
you  that  definitely.''"  she  asked. 

"Why,   don't   you  believe   him.?  "   asked   the   Squire 
rather  sharply. 

"  I  should  believe  him  if  he  said  it  plainly,"  she 
replied. 

"  Well,  he  did  say  it  plainly.  '  I  don't  owe  anybody 
a  penny,'  he  said,  '  although  I  can't  say  I  have  much 
of  a  balance  in  the  bank.'  I  never  supposed  he  would 
have  that.  If  the  boys  keep  out  of  debt  on  what  I 
allow  them,  that's  all  I  ask.  But  I'll  own  it  surprised 
me,  as  it  seems  to  have  surprised  you,  that  he  Jias  kept 
out  of  debt  since  the  last  time,  and  I  put  it  to  him 
again.  '  If  there's  anything  to  settle  up,'  I  said,  '  you 
had  better  let  me  know  now.  You  don't  want  to  begin 
married  life  with  anything  hanging  over  you ! '  And 
he  said  again,  '  There's  nothing  at  all.  I  don't  owe 
anybody  a  penny.'  So  there  it  is,  Nina.  The  boy's  a 
good  boy  at  heart,  and  I'm  pleased  with  him.    And  as 


AN    ENGAGEMENT  251 

for  the  girl,  I  think  she'll  turn  out  well.  Get  her  away 
from  all  that  nonsense  she  has  been  brought  up  to,  and 
settle  her  down  here,  in  a  pretty  place  like  the  dower- 
house,  with  a  good  income  to  keep  things  going  as  they 
ought  to  be  kept  going — I'll  do  that  for  them — and 
I  believe  she'll  turn  out  trumps,  and  I  hope  we  shan't 
be  wanting  a  grandson  long.  That's  what  pleases  nic, 
Nina  " — his  face  beamed  as  he  said  it.  "  I'm  an  active 
man,  but  I'm  getting  on  a  bit  now,  and  I  should  like 
to  see  my  grandson  growing  up  before  I  have  to  go 
and  leave  it  all.  That's  been  at  the  bottom  of  half 
I've  felt  about  this  wretched  affair  of  Dick's ;  and  it 
made  me  more  annoyed  than  perhaps  I  need  have  been 
about  Walter  settling  down  in  a  place  like  Melbury 
Park.  To  see  a  boy  growing  up  at  Kencote,  as  I  grew 
up,  and  taking  to  it  from  the  time  he's  a  baby — that'll 
be  a  great  thing,  Nina,  eh.'*  " 

He  was  exalted  by  his  rosy  dream.  He  saw  himself 
leading  a  tiny  child  by  the  hand,  very  tender  with 
his  littleness,  showing  him  this  and  that,  hearing  his 
prattle  about  familiar  things,  putting  him  later  on  a 
pony,  and  later  still  teaching  him  to  shoot,  watching  him 
grow,  sending  him  off  to  school,  perhaps  as  an  old  man 
hearing  of  his  doings  at  the  University  or  in  the  serv- 
ice,— a  fine,  tall,  straight  young  Clinton,  fortunate  in- 
heritor of  generations  of  good  things,  and  made  worthy 
of  them,  largely  through  his  own  guidance.  So  he 
had  thought  about  Dick,  years  before,  sitting  before 
the  fire,  or  pacing  his  room  downstairs,  while  his  wife 
and  his  little  son,  the  centre  of  all  his  hopes,  lay  sleep- 
ing above,  or  out  of  doors  as  he  had  followed  his 
favourite  pursuits,  and  found  new  zest  in  them.  But  in 
those  days  he  had  been  young,  and  his  own  life  stretched 
immeasurably  before  him,  with  much  to  do  and  many 
things  to  be  enjoyed.  His  own  life  was  still  strong 
in  him,  to  hold  and  enjoy,  but  what  should  come  after 
it  was  far  more  important  now  than  it  had  been  then, 


252  THE    ELDEST    SON 

and  he  desired  much  more  ardently  to  see  its  beginnings. 
And  Dick  had  foiled  his  hopes.  This  was  to  be  a  new 
start,  out  of  which  better  things  should  come.  He 
wanted  it  keenly,  and  because  he  had  had  most  things 
that  he  wanted  in  life,  it  seemed  natural  that  it  should 
be  coming  to  him,  and  coming  from  a  quarter  whose 
signs  he  had  not  previously  examined.  "  Nina,"  he  said 
again,  "  I  want  to  see  my  grandson  grow  up  at 
Kencote." 

She  paused  a  moment  before  she  said  quietly,  "  As 
you  saw  Dick  grow  up  years  ago." 

His  sunny  vision  was  clouded.  He  frowned.  "  We 
must  make  up  our  minds  to  do  without  Dick,"  he  said; 
"  he  won't  come  here.  He  has  practically  thrown  us 
off." 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  I  have  seen  him,  and  he  is  coming 
here  on  Friday." 

He  stared  at  her,  the  frown  still  on  his  face.  He 
was  moved  by  her  news,  but  not  altogether  to  pleasure. 
His  mind  was  running  on  new  desires,  and  it  was  an 
effort  to  adjust  it  to  old  ones. 

"You've  seen  him.^^  "  he  said.  "What  did  you  say 
to  him.^  You  didn't  make  him  think  that  I  was  going 
to  give  way .?  " 

"  No.  He  does  not  expect  that,  or,  I  think,  hope  for 
it  now." 

"  Is  he  going  to  give  way,  then?  " 

"  No.  Not  that,  either.  He  is  going  to  be  married 
very  soon." 

"  Then  what  does  he  want  to  come  here  for.^^  I 
won't  receive  that  woman,  whether  he  marries  her  or 
not.  And  if  he  marries  her  I'll  disinherit  him  as  far 
as  I'm  able  to.  I  don't  go  back  from  my  word.  If 
he  thinks  he's  going  to  turn  me — if  he's  coming  here 
with  that  idea — he'd  better  stop  away." 

"He  doesn't  think  that,"  said  Mrs.  Clinton.  "I 
don't  think  he  will  want  to  speak  of  anything  that  has 


AN    ENGAGEMENT  253 

been  between  you.  He  knows,  and  he  has  made  up  his 
mind  to  it.  Don't  jou  want  to  see  him,  Edward.^  He 
is  coming  because  he  wants  to  see  you." 

The  Squire's  face  showed  a  flush,  and  he  looked 
down.  "  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  him,"  he  said,  and 
went  out  of  the  room. 

The  next  morning  at  breakfast  time  a  note  was 
handed  to  the  Squire  from  Aunt  Laura,  asking  him  if 
he  could  make  it  quite  convenient  to  come  and  see  her 
during  the  day,  as  she  wished  to  consult  him  upon  mat- 
ters of  business. 

"  Matters  of  business !  "  he  echoed,  reading  out  the 
note.  "  Now  it's  a  remarkable  thing  that  none  of  the 
old  aunts  has  ever  wished  to  consult  me  on  matters  of 
business  before,  though  I  should  always  have  been  ready 
to  do  what  I  could  for  them.  I  wonder  what  the  old 
lady  wants." 

"  I  think  I  know,"  said  Joan. 

Humphrey  looked  at  her  sharply  from  across  the 
table.  "  You  can't  possibly  know  anything  about  it," 
he  said. 

"  She  wants  to  keep  guinea-pigs,"  pursued  Joan,  un- 
moved. "  She  told  me  about  some  she  had  when  she 
was  little,  and  said  she  should  like  to  have  them  again." 

"  Humphrey  might  give  her  a  hutch  for  a  Christmas 
present,"  suggested  Nancy. 

"  Don't  talk  nonsense,  children,"  ordered  the  Squire. 
"  You  might  run  down  to  her  after  breakfast  and  say 
I  will  come  and  see  her  at  eleven  o'clock." 

At  the  hour  mentioned  he  marched  into  Aunt  Laura's 
parlour,  bringing  with  him  into  the  rather  close  atmos- 
phere a  breath  of  the  cold  bnght  winter  day.  "  Well, 
Aunt  Laura,"  he  said  in  his  hearty  voice,  "  you  want 
me  to  help  you  settle  your  affairs,  eh?  What  about 
Mr.  Pauncey?     Shan't  I  be  making  him  jealous?" 

Aunt  Laura,  with  thoughts  of  "  refreshment  "  filling 
her  mind,  did  not  reply  to  this  question  until  he  was 


^54  THE    ELDEST   SON 

sitting  opposite  to  her  with  a  glass  of  sherry  and  a  dry 
biscuit  by  his  side.  Then  she  said,  "  It  will  be  a  matter 
for  Mr.  Pauncey  by  and  by,  Edward.  It  is  about  Hum- 
phrey. I  wished  to  consult  you  about  doing  something 
for  dear  Humphrey  and  the  nice  girl  he  is  going  to 
marry." 

"Oh,  you've  heard  about  that  already,  have  you.^  " 
exclaimed  the  Squire.  "Good  news  travels  fast,  eh? 
Well,  it  isn't  a  bad  thing,  is  it  ?  Another  young  couple 
settling  down — what?  Who  let  you  into  the  secret, 
Aunt  Laura  ?  " 

"  Dear  Humphrey  has  told  me  all  about  it,"  said  the 
old  lady,  with  some  pride.  "  I  was  the  first  to  know.  And 
he  brought  the  nice  girl  to  see  me  when  she  was  here  at 
Christmas  time,  and  she  came  by  herself  afterwards.  I 
liked  her  very  much,  Edward,  and  I  hope  you  do  too." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  like  her,"  said  the  Squire.  "  It's  an  en- 
gagement that  promises  well.  So  you  want  to  give 
them  a  wedding  present,  eh?  Well,  now,  if  I  might 
suggest,  and  you  cared  to  spend  the  money,  how  about 
a  smart  little  pony  dogcart,  with  harness  and  every- 
thing, and  a  pony,  which  I'd  look  out  for  you  and  take 
some  trouble  about  it.^ — very  pleased  to.  That  would 
be  a  very  handsome  present.  I  don't  know  whether 
you'd  care  to  go  up  to  it.  It  would  cost  you  about — 
about " 

"  Thank  you,  Edward,"  Aunt  Laura  interrupted  him. 
"  I  think  that  might  be  a  good  idea  for  one  of  my 
presents,  and  I  will  think  it  over  and  very  likely  accept 
your  very  kind  offer.  But  it  was  not  exactly  a  wedding 
present  that  I  had  in  my  mind  when  I  asked  you  to 
come  and  see  me,  which  you  have  so  kindly  and  promptly 
done.  As  you  know,  I  have  an  income  far  above  my 
needs,  and  there  is  a  considerable  sum  of  money  belong- 
ing to  me  which  will  go  to  the  children  after  my  death. 
How  much  it  is  I  could  not  tell  you  exactly  without 
consulting  Mr.  Pauncey,  which  I  propose  to  do  when  I 


AN   ENGAGEMENT  255 

am  better  and  he  is  better.  But  what  I  should  wish  to 
do  is  to  make  Humphrey  an  allowance  to  supplement 
what  you  yourself  propose  to  allow  him,  and  in  my  will 
I  should  like — but  this  I  will  not  settle  upon  against 
your  wishes,  not  by  any  means — I  should  like  to — well, 
if  you  understand  what  I  mean — to  make  Humphrey,  as 
it  were,  more  my  heir,  perhaps,  than  the  other  children." 

Probably  Aunt  Laura  had  never  before  addressed  a 
speech  so  long  to  her  nephew  without  being  interrupted, 
but  his  surprise  at  the  disclosure  of  her  wishes  had  kept 
him  silent  until  she  had  finished. 

"  Well,  that  is  certainly  a  generous  proposal  of 
yours.  Aunt  Laura,"  he  said ;  "  the  allowance,  I  mean. 
As  for  the  other " 

But  it  was  Aunt  Laura  who  interrupted  now.  "  You 
see,  Edward,"  she  said  eagerly,  "  it  is  like  this — I  have 
thought  it  over  carefully — Humphrey  seems  to  me  to 
want  the  money  more  than  the  others.  Dick,  I  take  it — 
but  of  course  I  do  not  want  to  pry  in  the  very  least 
into  your  concerns — will  be  so  well  provided  for  that 
any  little  extra  sum  I  left  to  him  would  be  more  in  the 
nature  of  a  compliment."  She  went  on  through  the 
others,  explaining  why  she  thought  Humphrey  might 
fairly  be  preferred  to  them,  and  emphasising  the  fact 
that  they  would  all  get  something;  but  the  Squire  was 
not  listening  to  her.  He  was  thinking  about  Dick. 
Dick,  if  he  carried  out  his  intentions,  would  not  be  well 
provided  for.  He  would  be,  as  the  Squire  thought,  a 
poor  man.  Here  were  complications.  He  did  not  want 
Aunt  Laura  to  make  Dick  her  heir  to  the  exclusion  of 
the  rest ;  but  the  weight  of  his  own  apparently  now 
fruitless  threat  to  disinherit  him  was  always  growing 
heavier  on  him,  and  he  certainly  did  not  want  her  to 
deny  him  his  share  under  a  false  conception  of  the 
true  state  of  affairs.  He  regretted  now  that  all  news 
of  what  had  been  happening  lately  with  regard  to  Dick 
had  been  kept  from  Aunt  Laura.     Must  he  give  her  a 


g56  THE    ELDEST    SON 

hint  as  to  how  the  land  lay?  He  could  not  make  up 
his  mind,  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  to  do  so.  He 
shirked  the  laborious  explanations  that  would  be  neces- 
sary, the  surprise,  and  all  that  would  follow.  And  even 
when  she  had  adjusted  her  mind  to  the  news,  he  did  not 
know  what  he  should  advise  her  to  do. 

"  As  far  as  that  goes,"  he  said,  " — making  Humphrey 
your  heir,  as  you  say, — I  should  like  to  think  that  over 
a  bit.  Of  course,  you  can  do  what  you  like  with  your 
own  money,  but " 

"  Oh,  but  I  should  not  think  of  acting  against  your 
wishes,  Edward,"  said  Aunt  Laura. 

"  No,  you're  very  good  about  that,"  he  said  kindly. 
"  I've  always  known  you  would  do  what  was  right,  and 
I  haven't  interfered  with  you  in  any  way,  and  don't 
want  to.  But  let's  leave  that  for  a  bit.  Don't  make 
any  decision  till  we've  had  another  talk.  As  far  as  the 
allowance  goes,  I'm  going  to  treat  the  boy  generously. 
I  haven't  made  up  my  mind  yet  about  the  exact  sum,  but 
of  course  I  needn't  say  it  wouldn't  be  altered  by  any- 
thing you  liked  to  add.  That  would  be  an  extra  bit 
of  spending  for  them,  and  I've  no  doubt  they  would 
make  good  use  of  it.  What  was  it  you  thought  of.  Aunt 
Laura  .f^  " 

"  Well,"  said  the  old  lady  slowly,  "  I  think,  Edward 
— if  you  don't  mind — you  won't  be  offended  with  me,  I 
do  hope — I  have  no  wish  in  the  least  to  make  it  condi- 
tional— ^but  I  should  take  it  as  a  great  compliment  if 
you  would  tell  me  first — when  you  have  made  up  your 
mind — what  allowance  you  yourself  had  thought  of." 

The  Squire  stared  at  her,  and  then  burst  out  laugh- 
ing. In  an  unwonted  flash  of  insight  he  saw  what  she 
would  be  at,  the  diffident,  submissive,  gentle  old  woman, 
to  whom  he  and  everything  he  did  or  said  were  above 
all  admitted  criticism.  "  Well,  if  you  must  push  me 
into  a  comer.  Aunt  Laura,"  he  said,  "  I  may  as  well 
settle  the  figure  with  you  now.     I'll  start  them  with 


AN   ENGAGEMENT  257 

fifteen  hundred  a  year  and  a  liouse.  There  now.  What 
are  you  going  to  put  to  that?  " 

"  I  will  put  to  that,"  rephed  Aunt  Laura,  equally 
prompt,  "  another  five  hundred  a  year,  and  the  dear 
young  people  will  be  very  well  off." 

The  Squire  stared  again.  "  By  Jove !  "  he  said  in 
astonishment,  "  I'd  no  idea  you  meant  to  do  anything 
of  that  sort." 

"  But  you  said  it  would  make  no  difference  to  what 
you  would  do,"  she  said  a  little  anxiously. 

The  Squire  leant  forward  in  his  chair  and  touched 
her  knee.  "  Aunt  Laura,"  he  said,  "  you  are  a  very 
clever  old  lady." 

"  Oh,  Edward,"  she  expostulated,  "  I  hope  you  don't 
think " 

"  Oh,  you  knew,"  he  said,  leaning  back  again  in  great 
good-humour,  "  you  knew  well  enough.  If  you  had 
told  me  you  were  going  to  that  figure  at  first,  you  knew 
that  I  should  be  thinking  that  twelve  hundred  a  year 
from  me  instead  of  fifteen  would  do  very  well.  And 
that's  just  what  I  should  have  thought,  by  Jove!  Any 
man  would.  However,  I  have  no  wish  to  save  my  pocket 
at  the  expense  of  yours,  and  we'll  let  it  stand  at  what  I 
said.  But  I  say,  are  you  sure  you  can  manage  it  all 
right.''  It's  a  good  deal  of  money,  you  know.  You 
won't  be  narrowing  yourself,  eh.^^  I  shouldn't  like  to 
feel  that  you  weren't  every  bit  as  comfortable  as  you 
ought  to  be — what.''" 

Aunt  Laura  assured  him  that  she  would  remain  every 
bit  as  comfortable  as  she  ought  to  be,  and  finally  he  left 
her  and  walked  home,  whistling  to  himself  every  now 
and  then  as  he  went  over  the  points  of  their  conversa- 
tion, and  once  or  twice  laughing  outright  at  his  memo- 
ries. "  By  Jove !  she  had  me,"  he  said  to  himself,  after 
he  had  gained  the  comparative  seclusion  of  his  park  and 
could  stop  in  the  road  to  give  vent  to  his  mcrrimer*i, 
"  Who'd  have  thought  it  of  old  Aunt  Laura .^  " 


CHAPTER  XXII 

DICK    COMES    HOME 

As  the  time  came  near  for  Dick's  visit  the  Squire's  mood 
changed  from  one  of  genial  satisfaction  to  a  nervous 
irascibility,  which,  as  Joan  said  to  Nancy,  made  him 
very  difficult  to  live  with. 

"  I  know,"  Nancy  agreed.  "  It  is  really  rather  de- 
grading to  have  to  try  and  keep  him  in  a  good  temper." 

"  Good  temper !  "  repeated  Joan.  "  It  is  as  much  as 
one  can  do  to  keep  him  from  snapping  off  one's  head 
for  nothing  at  all ;  in  fact,  one  can't  do  it." 

"  I  think,"  said  Nancy  reflectively,  "  that  a  time  will 
come  when  we  shall  have  to  take  father  in  hand  and 
teach  him  how  to  behave.  That's  darling  mother's  mis- 
take— that  she's  never  done  it.  My  view  is  that  a 
woman  has  got  to  keep  a  man  in  order,  or  he  will 
tyrannise  over  her.     Don't  you  think  that  is  so,  Joan.'^  " 

"  From  what  I  have  observed,"  replied  Joan — they 
were  sitting  on  the  big  sofa  before  the  schoolroom  fire — 
"  I  should  say  it  was.  And  it's  a  bad  thing  for  men 
themselves.  Of  course,  we  know  quite  well  that  father 
is  frightened  to  death  of  what  Dick  will  say  to  him 
when  he  comes,  but  if  we  were  old  enough — and  mother 
cared  to  do  it — to  make  him  hide  it  up  when  he's  with 
us,  it  wouldn't  have  nearly  such  a  bad  effect  on  him. 
He  would  have  to  forget  it  sometimes;  now  he  never 
does." 

Whether  or  no  the  Squire  was  frightened  to  death  of 
what  Dick  would  say  to  him  when  he  came,  he  was 
certainly  upset  at  the  idea  of  what  lay  before  him. 
Although  he  had  as  yet  taken  no  definite  steps,  he  had 
come  to  the  decision  that  Dick,  as  far  £^s  was  possible, 

m 


DICK    COMES    HOME  259 

should  be  disinherited,  if  he  made  the  marriage  that  now 
seemed  inevitable.  The  news  of  Humphrey's  desirable 
engagement  had  made  the  other  look  still  more  unde- 
sirable, and  it  had  taken  off  the  edge  of  his  strong 
aversion  to  act  in  a  way  so  opposed  to  all  his  life-long 
intentions.  It  seemed  almost  to  have  justified  his  deci- 
sion, and  it  had  certainly  softened  to  himself  the  sting 
of  it. 

But  it  was  one  thing  to  allow  his  mind  to  dwell  on 
the  unhoped-for  compensations  of  his  decision,  when 
Dick  by  his  own  choice  had  cut  himself  off  from  Kencote 
and  remained  away  from  it,  and  it  was  quite  another 
to  contemplate  his  coming  back,  before  the  decision  was 
made  irrevocable,  on  a  footing  so  different  from  the 
one  he  had  hitherto  occupied.  The  Squire  was  made 
intensely  uncomfortable  at  the  thought  of  how  he  should 
bear  himself.  He  did  now"  want  to  see  his  eldest  son 
again,  and  to  be  friends  with  him.  That  desire  had 
been  greatly  weakened  while  his  mind  had  occupied  it- 
self with  Humphrey's  affair,  but  he  saw,  dimly,  that  it 
had  only  been  sleeping,  that  he  would  always  want 
Dick,  however  much  he  might  have  reason  to  be  pleased 
with  Humphrey,  and  that  he  was  laying  up  for  him- 
self unhappiness  in  the  future  in  working  to  put  Hum- 
phrey into  Dick's  place,  as  he  had  rashly  promised 
himself  that  he  would  do. 

Humphrey,  perhaps  unwisely  as  regards  his  own 
interest,  had  announced  his  departure  for  London  soon 
after  it  was  known  that  Dick  was  coming  down,  and 
the  Squire  was  left  to  turn  things  over  in  his  mind 
with  the  distraction  of  Humphrey's  affairs  and  Hum- 
phrey's presence  withdrawn  from  him. 

The  twins  went  in  the  carriage  to  meet  Dick  at  the 
station.  They  squeezed  in  on  either  side  of  him  and 
made  their  pleasure  at  seeing  him  both  vocal  and 
tangible. 

"  Dear,  darling  old  Dick,"  said  Joan,  trying  to  seize 


260  THE    ELDEST   SON 

his  hand  under  the  bearskin  rug,  "  it  is  very  wrong  of 
you  to  stay  away  from  home.  We've  missed  you 
awfully." 

"  You  seem  more  of  a  fluffy  angel  than  ever  now  we 
have  got  you  back,"  said  Nancy.  "  How  true  it  is 
what  the  old  Starling  used  to  say,  that  we  don't  know 
our  blessings  till  they  have  left  us." 

"  Thanks  very  much,"  replied  Dick.  "  What's  this 
I  hear  about  Humphrey  being  engaged.'^  But  I  sup- 
pose they  wouldn't  have  told  you  yet." 

"  Told  us  !  "  echoed  Joan. 

"  We  told  tliem!  "  said  Nancy. 

"  Oh,  you  did !     Trust  you  for  nosing  out  a  secret." 

"  It  wasn't  much  of  a  secret,"  said  Joan.  "  Silky 
Susan — oh,  I  beg  her  pardon,  we  mustn't  call  her  that 
now — I  mean  sweet  Sue,  was  all  eyes — big  round  ones." 

"  And  she  took  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to  ingratiate 
herself  with  us,"  said  Nancy.  "  We're  not  considered 
worth  it  as  a  rule,  and  of  course  we  see  through  it  in 
a  moment,  because  we're  not  really  her  sort." 

"  But  we're  going  to  be,"  said  Joan.  "  Humphrey 
told  us  that  we  ought  to  copy  her  in  the  way  we  behave, 
and  we  said  we  would." 

"  Jolly  glad  to  get  the  chance,"  added  Nancy.  "  We 
want  to  be  sweet  girls,  but  nobody  has  ever  shown  us 
how,  before." 

"  Oh,  you're  all  right,"  said  Dick.  "  You  needn't 
try  to  alter." 

"  Thank  you,  dear  Dick,"  replied  Joan.  "  You  are 
blind  to  our  faults,  and  it  is  very  sweet  of  you.  But 
there  is  room  for  improvement,  and  what  with  Miss 
Phipp  to  train  our  brains  and  sweet  Sue  Clinton  to 
improve  our  manners,  we  feel  we're  getting  a  tremen- 
dous chance,  don't  we,  Nancy  .^  " 

"  Rather !  "  acquiesced  Nancy ;  "  the  chance  of  a  life- 
time.    We  lie  awake  at  night  thinking  about  it." 

Dick  let  them  chatter  on,  and  retired  into  his  own 


DICK    COMES    HOME  261 

thoughts.  He  would  have  hked  to  know  how  his  father 
had  taken  the  news  of  his  coming,  but  was  unwilling 
to  question  them,  and  he  had  never  allowed  them  to 
exercise  their  critical  faculties  on  their  father  before 
him ;  so  they  were  not  likely  now  to  volunteer  enlight- 
enment. As  the  carriage  rolled  smoothly  over  the 
gravel  of  the  drive  through  the  park,  he  too,  like  his 
father,  felt  some  discomfort  at  the  thought  of  the 
meeting  that  lay  before  him. 

Except  that  he  had  come  out  of  his  room  and  was 
waiting  in  the  hall  to  receive  his  son,  which  had  not 
been  his  usual  custom,  there  was  nothing  in  the  Squire's 
greeting  which  could  arouse  comment  amongst  the 
servants  who  were  present  at  it.  This  was  always  a 
great  point  at  Kencote.  "  For  God's  sake,  don't  let 
the  servants  talk,"  was  a  phrase  often  on  the  Squire's 
lips;  but  he  himself,  in  any  crisis,  provided  them  with 
more  food  for  talk  than  anybody  else. 

"How  are  you,  Dick.?"  he  said,  shaking  hands. 
"  We  were  beginning  to  think  we  should  never  see  you 
again."  (This  was  for  the  benefit  of  the  servants.) 
"  The  meet's  at  Horley  Wood  to-morrow,  but  I'm  not 
going  out.  I've  got  a  touch  of  rheumatism.  Come  in 
and  have  a  cup  of  tea." 

They  all  went  into  the  morning-room.  "  Mother, 
can't  we  begin  to  have  tea  downstairs  now.?"  asked 
Joan.  "We're  quite  old  enough.  We  don't  make 
messes  any  more." 

Thus  by  a  timely  stroke  a  long-desired  concession 
was  won,  for  the  only  obstacle  hitherto  in  the  way  had 
been  the  Squire's  firm  pronouncement  that  children 
ought  to  be  kept  in  their  proper  place  as  long  as  they 
were  children,  and  the  proper  place  for  Joan  and  Nancy 
at  tea-time  was  the  schoolroom.  But  he  was  now  so 
greatly  reheved  at  having  them  there  to  centre  con- 
versation on  that  he  said  with  a  strong  laugh,  taking 
Joan  by  th?  shoulder  and  drawing  her  to  him,  "  Now, 


262  THE    ELDEST    SON 

there's  impudence  for  you!  But  I  think  we  might  let 
them  off  the  chain  now,  mother,  eh  ?  " 

"  In  holiday  time,"  acquiesced  Mrs.  Clinton,  "  and 
on  the  days  when  they're  not  at  lessons." 

"  But  if  they  get  sticky  with  jam,"  said  Dick,  "  they 
lose  their  privilege  for  a  week." 

"  And  any  one  who  drops  crumbs  on  the  carpet  must 
have  tea  with  us  in  the  schoolroom  for  a  week,"  said 
Nancy. 

The  subject  was  discussed  at  some  length  on  those 
lines  until  Mrs.  Clinton  sent  the  twins  up  to  take  off 
their  hats,  when  their  elders  still  went  on  discussing 
them. 

"  So  you've  chosen  the  blue-stocking,  mother,"  said 
Dick. 

"  Yes ;  she  is  coming  next  week,"  said  Mrs.  Clinton. 

"  Mother  didn't  want  anybody  dangerously  attractive 
about  the  house,"  said  the  Squire,  hastening  to  take 
up  that  subject,  which  was  continued  until  the  twins 
returned,  when  they  were  allowed  to  dominate  the  con- 
versation to  an  unusual  degree. 

But  at  last  the  time  came  when  the  Squire  had  al- 
ways been  accustomed  to  say,  "  Well,  we'll  go  into  my 
room  and  have  a  cigar,"  or  to  go  out  without  saying 
anything,  with  the  certainty  of  Dick's  following  him. 
He  could  not  now  go  out  of  the  room  without  saying 
anything,  for  that  would  liave  amounted  to  a  declara- 
tion made  before  the  children  that  he  did  not  want 
Dick's  company,  and  he  shirked  the  usual  formula 
which  would  precipitate  the  "  talk  "  that  he  dreaded. 

Dick  relieved  him  for  the  time  being.  "  I'll  go  into 
the  smoking-room  and  write  a  few  letters,"  he  said. 

"  Ah,  well,  I'll  go  into  my  room  and  smoke  a  cigar," 
said  the  Squire,  making  a  move. 

Mrs.  Clinton  asked  Joan  to  ring  the  bell.  "  They 
may  not  have  lit  the  fire  in  the  smoking-room,"  she 
said. 


DICK   COMES   HOME  ^63 

The  Squire  looked  back.  "Eh?  What!"  he  said 
sharply.  "  Of  course  they've  lit  it,  if  one  of  the  boys 
is  at  home." 

But  it  appeared  that  they  had  not  lit  it,  and  "  they," 
in  the  person  of  a  footman,  were  instructed  to  repair 
the  oversight  immediately.  It  was  a  disturbing  episode. 
Dick  had  used  the  smoking-room  less  than  the  others, 
having  usually  shared  the  Squire's  big  room  with  him 
as  if  it  were  his  own,  and  they  had  probably  omitted  to 
light  the  smoking-room  fire  when  he  only  of  the  boys 
was  at  home,  on  occasions  before,  without  the  omission 
being  noticed.  But  it  looked  as  if  differences  were 
beginning  to  be  made,  as  if  the  dread  "  they  "  had 
begun  to  talk;  and  the  Squire  hated  the  suspicion  of 
their  talk  like  poison.  At  any  rate,  it  drew  attention  to 
Dick's  announcement  that  he  would  write  his  letters  in 
the  smoking-room  instead  of  in  the  library,  and  that 
would  be  food  for  talk.  He  said  with  a  frown,  "  Hadn't 
you  better  come  into  my  room.?  You  can  write  your 
letters  there.     You  generally  do." 

So  Dick  followed  him,  and  the  door  was  shut  on 
them. 

The  spurt  of  annoyance  had  brought  the  Squire  up 
to  the  point  of  "  tackling  the  situation."  After  all,  it 
had  to  be  talked  out  between  them,  and  it  was  useless 
to  put  off  the  moment  and  pretend  that  things  were  as 
usual. 

"I  suppose  your  mind  is  still  made  up?"  he  said, 
with  his  back  to  his  son. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Dick.  "  We  needn't  go  over  all  that 
again." 

"  I  don't  want  to,"  said  the  Squire.  "  Only  we  had 
better  have  things  plain.  I  won't  receive  her,  either 
before  marriage  or  after." 

Dick  put  constraint  on  himself,  but  his  face  grew 
red.  "  If  you  are  going  to  talk  like  that,"  he  said 
after  a  pause,  "  I  had  better  not  have  come." 


264  THE    ELDEST    SON 

The  Squire  turned  and  faced  him.  The  frown  was 
still  on  his  face,  but  it  was  one  of  trouble.  "  Oh,  my 
dear  boy,"  he  said,  "  I'm  glad  enough  to  see  you.  I 
wish  you  had  never  gone  away.  I  wish  to  God  you'd 
drop  it  all  and  come  back,  and  let  us  be  as  we  were 
before.  But  if  you  won't  change,  I  won't  change,  and 
if  we're  to  be  comfortable  together  these  few  days, 
let's  know  at  the  beginning  where  we  stand.  That's  all 
I  meant." 

"  All  right,"  said  Dick  rather  ungraciously.  "  But 
I  should  like  to  know  how  I  stand  in  other  matters  as 
well.  You've  sent  me  messages.  You're  going  to  make 
me  pay  pretty  heavily  for  marrying  the  woman  I've 
chosen.  I'm  not  complaining  and  I'm  not  asking  you 
to  change  your  mind.  But  I  think  I've  a  right  to  know 
exactly  where  I  stand." 

"  Well,  then,  sit  down,"  said  the  Squire,  "  and  I'll 
tell  you." 

They  were  confronted  in  a  way  neither  of  them 
had  been  prepared  for.  Certainly  Dick  had  not  come 
home  to  ask  for  explanations,  nor  had  his  father  meant 
to  open  up  the  now  closed  dispute.  Some  underling 
in  the  back  regions,  with  his  mouth  full  of  bread  and 
butter  and  tea  and  his  mind  relaxed  from  his  duties  to 
his  own  insignificant  enjoyments,  was  responsible  for 
what  was  now  going  to  be  said  in  his  master's  sanctum. 
A  match  struck  and  put  to  the  smoking-room  fire  would 
have  altered  the  course  of  affairs  at  Kencote,  perhaps 
only  for  an  hour  or  two,  perhaps  for  Dick's  lifetime. 
Now,  at  any  rate,  there  was  to  be  a  discussion  which 
would  otherwise  have  been  deferred,  and  for  their  own 
future  comfort  neither  the  Squire  nor  Dick  was  In  the 
most  tractable  mood  for  discussion. 

"  You  know  how  the  property  stands  and  what  goes 
with  it.'*  "  the  Squire  began. 

"  Yes,  I  know  all  that,"  said  Dick.  "  There's  about 
eight  thousand  acres,  and  a  rent-roll  In  good  times  of 


DICK    COMES    HOME  265 

perhaps  a  couple  of  thousand  a  year.  Then  there  are 
a  couple  of  livings  to  present  to,  a  house  which  might 
be  let  with  the  shooting  by  a  fellow  who  couldn't  afford 
to  live  in  it  for,  let's  say,  a  thousand  a  year.  So  I 
shall  be  fairly  comfortably  off  somewhere  else  as  long 
as  I  do  let,  and  I  dare  say  there  won't  be  much  difficulty 
about  that.  There  are  plenty  of  rich  manufacturers 
who  would  like  to  take  a  place  like  Kencote." 

Although  his  mind  had  been  on  other  plans,  and 
he  had  no  sort  of  intention  of  living  anywhere  but  at 
Kencote  after  he  should  have  succeeded  his  father,  still, 
in  the  background  of  his  thoughts  there  had  lain  great 
bitterness  at  this  preposterous  punishment  that  his 
father  was  preparing  for  him ;  and  the  bitterness  now 
showed  plainly  enough  in  his  speech. 

It  aroused  in  the  Squire  a  curious  conflict  of  emo- 
tions. The  picture  of  a  rich  outsider  settled  in  the 
house  which  had  sheltered  none  but  Clintons  for  un- 
numbered years  appalled  him,  and,  if  Dick  had  pre- 
sented it  for  his  inspection  without  heat,  must  have 
turned  him  from  his  purpose  then  and  there;  for  that 
purpose  had  never  been  examined  in  its  ultimate  bear- 
ings, and  would  not  have  been  formed  except  with  the 
view  of  bending  Dick  to  his  will.  But,  already  ruffled, 
he  became  more  so  at  Dick's  tone,  and  his  uneasiness 
at  the  fearful  idea  which  had  been  evolved,  although 
it  was  rejected  for  the  moment,  translated  itself  into 
anger. 

"  You've  no  right  to  talk  like  that,"  he  said  hotly. 
"  If  you  would  come  to  your  senses  you  could  be  as 
well  off  living  here  as  I  am." 

"  I  know  I  could,"  said  Dick  more  quietly,  "  if  I 
were  blackguard  enough  to  give  up  a  woman  for  the 
sake  of  money.  But  there's  no  use  at  all  in  talking 
about  that.  I'm  quite  prepared  for  what  you  are  going 
to  do,  and  I  haven't  come  here,  as  I  told  you,  to  ask 
you  to  change  your  mind.    It's  your  affair ;  only  if  you 


me  THE   ELDEST   SON 

haven't  looked  what  you're  going  to  do  in  the  face 
yet,  I'm  interested  enough  to  say  that  I  think  you 
ought  to." 

"  You'll  have  enough  money,"  snapped  the  Squire, 
not  at  all  mollified  by  this  speech,  "  to  make  it  possible 
for  you  to  live  at  Kencote — you'll  have  much  more  than 
enough  money,  as  I  told  you — if  you  give  up  this  mar- 
riage. You  say  you  won't  give  it  up.  Very  well,  then, 
you  can  go  and  live  somewhere  else  and  Humphrey  can 
take  your  place  here." 

Dick's  astonished  stare  recalled  him  to  his  senses. 
He  had  spoken  out  of  his  anger.  He  had  never  meant 
to  go  so  far  as  this.  But  having  gone  so  far  he  went 
on  to  make  his  position  good. 

"  Now  we  won't  beat  about  the  bush  any  more,"  he 
said  judicially.  "  As  far  as  I'm  concerned — what  I'm 
going  to  leave  him,  I  mean — Humphrey  couldn't  af- 
ford to  live  at  Kencote.  I'm  not  going  to  rob  others 
to  put  him  in  your  place,  although  I  tell  you  this,  he's 
going  to  be  put  in  your  place  as  soon  as  you  get 
married,  until  my  death.  I  dare  say  you  have  heard 
he's  going  to  be  married  himself,  and  it's  a  marriage 
I'm  pleased  with.  She  won't  bring  him  much  money, 
I  dare  say,  but  that  will  be  put  right  in  another  quar- 
ter. He'll  be  well  off  from  the  first,  and  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  he  weren't  better  off  still  before  long.  He'll 
live  at  the  dower-house  and  work  with  me  at  the  man- 
agement of  the  place,  just  as  you  have  always  done. 
And  when  you  succeed,  you'll  probably  find  him  a 
richer  man  than  you  are." 

Dick  rose  from  his  chair.  "  Thank  you,"  he  said. 
"  I  know  where  I  stand  now.  And  as  there  doesn't 
seem  to  be  much  more  to  stop  here  for,  I'll  get  back  to 
London." 

It  was  the  Squire's  turn  now  to  stare.  "  What  do 
you  mean  ?  "  he  gasped.     "  You're  not  going !  " 

But  Dick  had  already  left  the  room. 


DICK    COMES    HOME  267 

The  Squire  remained  sitting  forward  in  his  chair 
looking  into  the  fire.  His  face,  which  had  been  red 
and  hard,  gradually  changed  its  colour  and  expression. 
He  looke<l  a  tried  and  troubled  old  man.  He  had  burnt 
his  boats  now.  He  had  allowed  his  anger  to  dictate 
words  which  he  would  not  have  used  in  cold  blood. 
He  had  insulted  his  son,  as  well  as  injured  him.  Dick 
was  going  out  of  his  father's  house  in  anger,  and  he 
would  not  return  to  it.  As  long  as  he  lived  he  would 
not  see  him  again. 

These  thoughts  were  too  much  for  him.  His  own 
anger  had  disappeared.  He  could  not  let  his  son 
go  away  from  him  like  that.  He  had  not  meant  what 
he  had  said — at  least,  he  had  not  meant  to  say  it  in 
that  way.     He  rose  quickly  and  went  out  of  the  room. 

When  Dick  had  left  him  he  had  gone  into  the 
smoking-room,  where  the  belated  fire  was  burning 
briskly,  summoned  his  ser^'ant  and  ordered  his  cart. 
His  intention  was  to  drive  straight  over  to  Bathgate 
and  wait  there  for  a  train  to  London.  Virginia  was 
not  at  Blaythom,  or  he  would  have  gone  there.  He 
had  told  her  that  he  was  going  down  to  Kencote  to 
make  one  last  effort  at  reconcihation  with  his  father, 
and  she  had  said  that  she  would  pay  an  overdue  week- 
end visit  at  the  same  time,  so  that  he  should  not  com- 
plicate matters  by  coming  over  to  see  her  from  Ken- 
cote. "  For  I'm  sure  you  won't  be  able  to  keep  away 
if  you  are  so  close  to  me,"  she  had  said,  holding  him 
by  the  lapels  of  his  coat  and  smiling  up  in  his  face. 
It  had  been  an  old  engagement  between  them  that  he 
should  have  spent  this  particular  week-end  with  her  at 
Blaythorn,  and  he  now  wished  heartily  that  he  had  not 
changed  his  plans.  "  Kicked  out  of  the  house  within 
ten  minutes ! "  he  said  to  himself,  standmg  m  front 
of  the  fire,  when  he  had  given  his  orders.  He  was  con- 
sumed with  anger  against  his  father,  and  had  an  im- 
pure to  get  away  from  the  house  at  once,  to  start  oa 


268  THE    ELDEST    SON 

foot,  and  let  his  cart  catch  him  up.  But  it  was  raining- 
hard,  and  there  were  a  couple  of  notes  that  he  had  to 
write  for  the  evening  post.  He  might  as  well  write 
them  now,  and  he  sat  down  at  the  table  to  do  so. 

The  door  opened,  and  Mrs.  Clinton  came  in.  "  Dick 
dear,"  she  said  in  her  quiet  voice,  which  hardly  be- 
tokened the  trouble  that  could  be  seen  in  her  face,  "  you 
are  not  going  to  leave  us  like  this !  " 

He  turned  in  his  seat  and  faced  her.  "  I'm  going  in 
a  few  minutes,"  he  said,  "  and  I'm  not  coming  back 
again.     It's  good-bye  this  time,  mother." 

"  Oh,  why  can't  you  be  a  little  patient  with  him  ?  " 
she  cried.  "  He  wanted  so  to  see  you  here  again.  If 
he  has  said  anything  to  offend  you  he  will  be  very  sorry 
for  it.  Dick,  don't  go  like  this.  It  will  be  the  end  o^ 
everything." 

He  got  up  from  the  table  and  put  his  arm  round  her 
shoulder,  leading  her  up  to  the  hearth.  "  You  and  I 
will  see  each  other,"  he  said  kindly.  "  It  isn't  the  end 
of  everything  between  us,  mother.  But  with  him,  and 
with  Kencote,  it  is.  There's  no  help  for  it.  He's  defi- 
nitely against  me  now.  He's  tt)ld  me  he's  going  to  put 
Humphrey  in  my  place — straight  out.  I  can't  stand 
that,  you  know.  If  he's  going  to  say  things  like  that — 
and  do  them — what's  the  good  of  my  staying  here.''  " 

"  He  can't  mean  it,"  she  pleaded.  "  He  is  pleased 
with  Humphrey  now,  but  he  has  always  loved  you  best 
of  all  his  sons.  It  isn't  in  his  power  to  put  any  one 
in  your  place." 

"  I  dare  say  he'll  be  sorry  for  having  done  it,"  he 
said,  "  but  he's  going  to  do  it,  all  the  same.  I  can 
put  up  with  the  idea,  mother,  as  long  as  I'm  not  at 
Kencote,  but  it's  a  bit  too  much  to  stay  here  and  have 
that  sort  of  thing  said  to  you." 

He  dropped  his  arm  and  turned  round  sharply,  for 
the  door  had  opened  again,  and  now  it  was  his  father 
who  came  into  the  room. 


DICK    COMES    HOME  269 

"  Dick,"  he  said,  shutting  the  door  and  coming  for- 
ward, "  I  said  too  much  just  now.  For  God's  sake 
forget  it!" 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Then  Dick  said  in  a 
hard  voice,  "  What  am  I  to  forget?  " 

The  Squire  looked  at  him  with  his  troubled,  perplexed 
frown.     "  Can't  you  give  it  up,  my  boy.?  "  he  asked. 

Dick  turned  away  with  an  impatient  shrug  of  the 
shoulders. 

"  God  knows  I  don't  want  to  make  any  changes," 
said  his  father.  "  It's  w^orse  for  me  than  it  is  for  you, 
Dick.  Humphrey  won't  be  to  me  what  you  have  been. 
If  you  would  only  meet  me  half-way,  I " 

Dick  turned  suddenly.  "Yes,  I'll  meet  you  half- 
way," he  said.  "  It  is  what  I  came  here  to  say  I  would 
do,  only  you  went  so  far  beyond  everything  that  there 
was  nothing  left  for  me  to  say.  If  you  are  going  to 
set  yourself  to  make  Humphrey  a  richer  man  than  I, 
as  you  said — well,  that  is  beyond  anything  I  had 
thought  of — that  you  should  be  thinking  of  it  in  that 
way,  I  mean." 

"  Dick,  I've  never  thought  of  it  in  that  way,"  s-aid 
his  father.     "  And  you  must  forget  that  I  said  it." 

Mrs.  Clinton  spoke.  "  You  have  heard  of  Hum- 
phrey's engagement,"  she  said.  "  Your  father's  idea 
is  that  he  shall  live  here,  at  the  dower-house,  and  help 
him  with  the  estate  management." 

"  That's  it,"  said  the  Squire.  "  It  was  either  that 
or  getting  a  regular  agent  in  the  place  of  Haydon.  I 
can't  do  it  all  myself.  But  if  you  would  only  come 
back,  Dick " 

"  I  can't  do  that,"  said  Dick,  "  at  least,  not  now. 
I'm  tied.  And  I  can't  object  to  your  getting  Hum- 
phrey in,  if  you  think  he'll  take  to  the  job.  It  isn't 
that.  And  it  isn't  that  I  mind  much  your  leaving  money 
to  the  others  instead  of  to  me — as  long  as  you  don't 
leave  it  all  to  one  of  them." 


270  THE    ELDEST   SON 

"  I  told  you  I  wasn't  going  to  do  that,"  said  the 
Squire.  "  I'd  never  thought  of  it.  What  I  said  about 
Humphrey  I  said  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  and  I'm 
sorry  for  it." 

"  Oh,  all  right,"  said  Dick ;  "  we  needn't  worry  about 
that  any  more.  Do  what  you  like  for  Humphrey.  I've 
no  wish  to  put  a  spoke  in  his  wheel,  and  I  wish  I  thought 
he  felt  the  same  about  putting  one  in  mine.  I'll  tell 
you  what  I  told  you  at  the  beginning — I've  more  or 
less  reconciled  myself  to  the  change  you're  going  to 
make.  At  any  rate,  I  shan't  grumble  at  it.  It'll  only 
mean  doing  a  bit  more  for  myself  instead  of  looking 
to  you  for  everything." 

The  Squire  did  not  like  this.  "  You  couldn't  do 
much,"  he  said,  "  to  make  up  for  the  loss  of  the  unset- 
tled property,  if  I  left  it  away  from  you." 

"  I  could  do  something,"  replied  Dick,  "  and  I'm  go- 
ing to." 

"  Let  us  sit  down,"  Mrs.  Clinton  said.  "  Dick,  if 
you  have  anything  to  tell  us,  if  you  are  going  to  meet 
us  half-way,  as  you  say,  let  us  hear." 

They  sat  down,  and  Dick  considered  for  a  moment, 
and  then  looked  up  at  his  father.  "  Neither  of  us  has 
given  way  an  inch  yet,"  he  said. 

The  Squire  frowned.  "  There  can  be  no  giving  way 
on  the  point  of  your  marriage,"  he  said. 

Dick  was  about  to  reply,  but  Mrs.  Clinton  put  her 
hand  on  his  knee.  "  Let  him  tell  us  what  he  has  in  his 
mind,  Edward,"  she  said. 

"  I  was  going  to  say,"  said  Dick,  with  a  gulp,  "  that 
I  am  quite  prepared  to  give  way  on  the  question  of  the 
property.  I  wanted  you  to  receive  Virginia,  and  to 
give  me  everything  you  were  going  to  give  me.  I 
don't  ask  that  now.  Do  what  you  have  said  you  would 
do.  I  shan't  grouse  about  it.  I  shan't  let  it  make  any 
difference  between  you  and  me.  I  promise  you  that. 
That's  where  I'll  give  way." 


DICK    COMES    HOME  271 

The  Squire  felt  very  uncomfortable.  Conciliation 
was  in  the  air,  and  he  was  prepared  to  be  conciliatory. 
But  how  was  he  to  meet  this.^* 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  do,  then,"  he  asked, 
"short  of ?" 

Dick  took  him  up.  "  I'm  going  to  marry  Virginia 
Dubec,"  he  said  decisively.  "  That  is  settled,  and  you 
can't  stop  me.  You  haven't  been  fair  either  to  me  or 
to  her  about  it.  You  have  never  given  her  a  chance 
to  prove  to  you,  as  she  could  prove,  that  she  is  as 
unlike  the  woman  you  take  her  for  as  any  woman  on 
earth  could  be.  And  you  have  gone  to  greater  lengths 
in  trying  to  stop  me  doing  what  I'm  going  to  do  than 
I  think  you  were  justified  in  going." 

The  Squire  broke  in  on  him.  "  Oh,  if  you're  going 
to  open  up "  he  began  ;  but  Mrs.  Clinton  said,  "  Ed- 
ward, let  Dick  finish  what  he  has  to  say  " ;  and  Dick 
went  on  quickly,  "  It's  the  last  time  I  need  mention  all 
that.  I'm  ready  to  forget  it,  every  bit  of  it,  and  you'll 
never  hear  a  single  word  more  about  it,  if — if " 

The  words  that  rose  to  his  lips  were,  "  If  you'll  un- 
dertake to  behave  yourself  from  now  onwards,"  but 
since  he  had  to  find  other  words  to  express  his  meaning, 
and  paused  for  a  moment,  the  Squire  put  in,  "  Well,  if 
what.f^     I'm  waiting  to  hear." 

"  You  can't  stop  my  marriage,"  said  Dick.  "  The 
only  thing  you  can  do  is  to  recognise  it  now,  unless 
you  deliberately  choose  that  this  shall  be  the  last  time 
we  are  to  see  one  another." 

The  Squire's  frown  of  perplexity  became  a  frown  of 

displeasure.     "  If  those  are  your  terms "  he  began ; 

but  again  Mrs.  Clinton  interrupted  him. 

"  When  Dick  has  been  married  some  time,"  she  said, 
"  you  will  not  want  to  keep  him  at  arm's  length.  You 
will  make  the  best  of  it.  It  is  senseless  for  either  you 
or  him  to  talk  of  an  estrangement  that  will  last  a  life- 
time.   Such  a  thing  could  not  happen.    There  would  be 


^72  THE   ELDEST   SON 

no  grounds  for  it.  Edward,  jou  have  done  what  you 
could  to  prevent  Dick  from  following  his  will.  Now 
you  must  accept  his  decision,  and  not  go  on  to  make 
further  unhappiness." 

He  turned  on  her  a  reproachful  eye.  "  What,  you 
on  his  side,  against  me !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  As  long  as  there  was  a  chance  of  your  having  your 
way,"  she  said,  "  I  would  not  act  in  any  way  against 
you.  But  now  I  say  that  I  have  seen  for  myself,  and  » 
I  do  not  believe  that  you  have  anything  to  fear.  Dick 
has  chosen  for  himself,  and  we  ought  now  to  respect  his 
choice." 

Dick  put  out  his  hand  and  pressed  his  mother's.  The 
Squire,  faced  with  decision,  almost  with  authority,  from 
a  quarter  in  which  he  had  hitherto  expected  and  ob- 
tained nothing  but  submission,  showed  neither  surprise 
nor  resentment.  He  sat  looking  on  to  the  ground,  his 
frown  of  displeasure  now  once  again  changed  into  a 
frown  of  perplexity. 

In  a  moment  or  two  he  looked  up  and  spoke,  but  with- 
out indignation.  "  You  want  me,  now,  after  all  I've 
said  and  done,"  he  said,  "  to  give  in  altogether  and 
receive  this  Lady  George  Dubec  as  my  daughter-in- 
law.?" 

"  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Clinton,  "  that  the  time  has 
come  when  you  must." 

"  Oh,  for  God's  sake,  let's  have  an  end  of  it,  fa- 
ther," said  Dick.  "  Give  her  a  chance.  It's  all  I  ask 
of  you.  Let  me  bring  her  here.  If  you  haven't 
changed  your  mind  after  her  visit — then  both  of  us 
will  have  done  what  we  can  for  each  other — and  you 
need  never  see  her  again  as  long  as  you  live." 

The  Squire  sat  without  replying  for  a  long  time. 
Then  he  got  up  and  turned  to  leave  the  room.  "  Very 
well,  Dick,"  he  said,  "  you  may  bring  her  here," 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

HUMPHREY    COUNTS    HIS    CHICKENS 

Humphrey  went  from  Kcncote  to  Thatchovcr,  where 
Lady  Aldeburgh  was  for  the  time  being  residing  with 
her  numerous  family.  This  did  not  include  her  hus- 
band, who  preferred  to  play  a  Box  and  Cox  game  with 
her  in  respect  of  his  two  houses ;  but  on  his  way  through 
London  Humphrey  called  on  his  prospective  father-in- 
law  to  gain  formal  authorisation  of  his  suit. 

Lord  Aldeburgh  had  fitted  himself  up  a  suite  of 
bachelor  chambers  on  the  top  floor  of  his  great  house 
in  Manchester  Square,  and  had  installed  a  lift,  which 
no  one  was  allowed  to  use  without  his  permission,  as 
its  rumbling  disturbed  him  in  his  chosen  occupations. 
The  chief  of  these  was  the  collection  of  portraits  of 
people  and  pictures  of  places,  which  he  cut  out  of 
illustrated  papers  and  magazines  and  pasted  into  large 
albums,  indexing  them  up  very  thoroughly  as  he  went 
on.  He  was  also  an  ardent  attender  of  pla3\s  and  con- 
certs and  a  persistent  but  indifferent  bridge-player.  He 
had  found  a  club  where  the  stakes  were  half  a  crown 
a  hundred,  and  there  was  alwa^'s  a  rubber  to  be  had 
in  the  afternoon.  So  in  the  winter,  which  he  spent 
mostly  in  London,  his  days  were  fully  occupied.  Early 
in  the  year  he  went  to  the  Riviera  or  to  Egypt,  and 
about  the  time  that  his  family  came  up  to  London  for 
the  season  he  installed  himself  at  Thatchover  and  en- 
joyed his  garden.  In  the  autumn  he  went  abroad 
again  or  travelled  about  England.  He  was  not  a  rich 
man,  but  he  was  an  entirely  happy  and  contented  one. 

"  His  lordship  is  very  busy  this  morning  and  I  don't 

273 


^74  THE    ELDEST   SON 

think  he  would  like  to  be  disturbed,"  said  the  servant 
who  opened  the  door. 

"  Well,  take  up  my  name  and  say  I  won't  keep  him 
long,"  said  Humphrey.     "  I'll  come  up  with  you." 

"  I  don't  think  his  lordship  will  see  you,  sir,"  said 
the  man;  but  Humphrey  climbed  the  four  flights  of 
stairs  after  him  and  waited  in  the  hall  of  Lord  Alde- 
bureh's  self-contained  flat  until  he  was  admitted  to  the 
presence. 

Lord  Aldeburgh  was  in  what  he  called  his  work-room. 
It  was  a  large  light  room  furnished  chiefly  with  deal 
tables,  each  devoted  to  a  particular  pursuit.  One  had 
paste-pots  and  scissors  and  knives  and  rulers  and  a 
sheet  of  glass  and  a  pile  of  papers  and  albums.  An- 
other was  for  the  making  of  jig-saw  puzzles,  a  third 
for  their  elucidation,  a  fourth  was  for  typewriting; 
and  there  was  a  reduplicating  apparatus,  and  another 
table  with  materials  for  illuminating.  The  walls  were 
covered  with  rubbings  of  monumental  brasses,  all  in- 
geniously overlaid  with  colour  and  gilding.  Lord  Alde- 
burgh had  hundreds  more  of  these  rubbings  rolled  up 
and  put  away  in  labelled  drawers,  and  hoped  before  he 
died  to  have  acquired  one  of  every  brass  in  England. 

He  was  standing  by  his  scissors-and-paste  table  when 
Humphrey  went  in,  and  there  was  a  slight  frown  of 
annoyance  on  his  otherwise  amiable  face.  He  was  a  big 
man,  clean-shaven  except  for  the  rudiments  of  a  pair  of 
whiskers,  and  looked  like  an  intelligent  family  solicitor, 
preoccupied  with  affairs  of  moment.  His  appearance 
had  sometimes  caused  him  to  be  taken  for  a  serious 
politician  and  had  caused  him  some  annoyance.  "  I'm 
all  for  the  constitution  and  that  sort  of  thing,"  he  was 
accustomed  to  say,  "  and  my  vote's  safe  enough  when 
it's  wanted.  But  I  will  not  take  the  chair  at  political 
meetings.  It  interferes  with  my  work.  Besides,  if  they 
interrupt  I  don't  know  what  to  say."  He  had  on  a 
voluminous  apron  with  bib  and  pockets  over  his  tweed 


COUNTING   HIS    CHICKENS       275 

suit,  which  rather  detracted  from  his  habitual  air  of 
weight ;  but  paste  was  sticky,  and  Lord  Aldeburgh  was 
careful  of  his  clothes,  which  it  was  his  custom  to  wear 
until  they  were  hardly  worth  passing  on  to  his  valet. 

"  Always  pleased  to  see  you,"  he  said,  shaking  hands, 
his  habitual  courtesy  struggling  with  his  annoyance  at 
being  disturbed.  "  But  if  you  hadn't  come  straight 
up  I  should  have  asked  3'ou  to  call  again  to-morrow. 
Friday  is  a  very  busy  day  with  me.  I  have  all  these 
papers  to  get  through,  and  there  are  so  many  of  them 
now  that  if  I  don't  clear  them  up  at  once  the  next 
week's  are  on  me  before  I  know  where  I  am." 

"  I'm  sorry,"  said  Humphrey,  looking  with  interest 
at  the  pile  of  cut-out  pictures  on  the  table  and  the 
pile  of  disjointed  papers  on  the  floor.  "  But  I'm  going 
down  to  Thatchover  this  afternoon  and  I  had  to  see  you 
first." 

"  Oh,  you're  going  down  to  Thatchover !  "  repeated 
Lord  Aldeburgh.  "  I  wish  I  could  get  down.  There's 
a  good  deal  of  replanting  being  done,  and  my  gardener 
is  such  a  fool  that  if  I'm  not  on  the  spot  something's 
bound  to  go  wrong,  though  I  type  him  out  the  most 
detailed  instructions.  But  I  really  can't  get  away  at 
present.  I'll  tell  you  what  you  might  do.  Just  see 
whether  he's  put  glass  over  tlie  Androsaces  and  things 
in  the  rock-garden,  will  you.'^  My  wife's  no  good  at 
that  sort  of  thing;  she  don't  care  about  it.  I  don't 
believe  she  knows  the  difference  between  a  saxifrage  and 
a  sedum ;  and  you  can't  trust  to  servants.  If  you'll  do 
that,  like  a  good  fellow,  I  shall  be  very  much  obliged 
to  you." 

"  Certainly  I  will,"  said  Humphrey,  taking  out  his 
pocketbook.     "  Better  give  me  the  name  of  the  things." 

"  I'll  type  out  a  list  from  my  garden  book  and  send 
it  down  to  you,"  said  Lord  Aldeburgh.  "  They're 
all  properly  labelled,  and  if  you'll  just  go  through 
them Thanks  very  much;  you've  relieved  me  of 


216  THE   ELDEST    SON 

an  anxiety.  I  very  nearly  threw  everything  up  to  go 
down  for  a  day.  But  I'm  glad  I  didn't  now.  Well,  if 
you  don't  mind  I'll  get  on  with  my  work  now  that's 
settled." 

He  held  out  his  hand  with  an  engaging  smile,  but 
Humphrey  said,  "  I  haven't  told  you  what  I  came 
about  yet.  I  want  to  marry  Susan.  She's  game,  and 
Lady  Aldeburgh  doesn't  object.  But  I  wanted  to  know 
what  you  thought  about  it  before  we  went  ahead." 

A  frown  of  perplexity  showed  itself  on  Lord  Alde- 
burgh's  face.  "  Marry  Susan  !  "  he  repeated.  "  Well, 
I  don't  see  any  objection,  if  you  think  she's  old  enough. 
But " 

"  She's  twenty-four,"  interpolated  Humphrey. 

"Twenty-four!  Is  she  really.'^  Well,  it  shows  what 
I've  always  said,  that  time  flies  quicker  than  you  think 
it  does.  Twenty-four!  My  goodness!  Well,  then,  of 
course  she's  old  enough,  and  I  rather  wonder  my  wife 
hasn't  seen  to  it  before.  And  what  I  was  going  to  say 
was  that  my  wife  looks  after  all  that  sort  of  thing,  and 
I'm  much  too  busy  a  man  to  be  worried  about  details. 
If  I  give  my  consent,  which  you're  quite  right  in  com- 
ing to  ask  for,  I  hope  I  shan't  have  any  more  bother 
about  it.     That's  all  I  meant." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  be  bothered,"  said  Hum- 
phrey. "  There'll  be  questions  of  settlements,  I  sup- 
pose.    But  the  lawyers  will  fix  up  all  that." 

"  Oh,  my  goodness,  yes ! "  said  Lord  Aldeburgh. 
"  Thank  heaven  all  that  sort  of  thing  was  fixed  up  when 
I  was  married  myself.  I  don't  want  ever  to  go  through 
it  again.  It  was  sign,  sign,  sign  from  morning  to  night. 
I've  forgotten  what  the  girls  were  to  have  when  they 
married,  but  I  know  it  wasn't  much,  and  I'm  not  in  a 
position  to  increase  it.  The  rock-garden  cost  me  an 
infernal  lot  of  money  last  year,  and  I'm  going  to  en- 
large it.  I  suppose  you  don't  know  where  I  can  get 
good  blocks  of  limestone  fairly  cheap,  do  you?    I  don't 


COUNTING   HIS    CHICKENS       277 

care  much  about  the  sandstone  I've  got.  At  least,  I 
don't  want  any  more  of  it." 

"  No,  I  don't  know,"  said  Humphrey.  "  You  had 
better  give  me  the  name  of  your  soHcitors,  and  we  can 
get  on  to  them.  I  suppose  I  can  settle  all  the  other 
points  with  Lady  Aldcburgh." 

"  Oh,  my  goodness,  yes ! "  said  Lord  Aldeburgh. 
"  I'm  much  too  busy  to  attend  to  it.  Look  here,  I'll 
show  you  an  interesting  thing.  It  just  proves  what 
we  were  talking  about  just  now,  how  time  flies.  You 
see  this  picture  of  Miss  Enid  Brown,  of  Laurel  Lodge, 
'  Reigate,  who  is  going  to  marry  this  fellow,  Mr.  Bertie 
Pearson,  of  the  Cromwell  Road?" 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  said  Humphrey.  "  I  don't  particu- 
larly envy  Mr.  Bertie  Pearson." 

"  Oh,  I  think  she's  a  very  nice-looking  girl,"  said 
Lord  Aldeburgh.  "  But  that  isn't  the  point.  Now 
twenty-two  years  ago,  when  I  first  began  to  make  my 
collection,  one  of  the  first  photographs  I  got  was 
of  a  Mr.  Horace  Brown,  of  Petersfield  House,  Reigate, 
who  married — here  he  is — I  was  just  looking  it  up 
when  you  came  in — see? — Miss  Mary  Carter,  of  Croy- 
don— turn  to  the  C  book  for  her — it's  all  carefully 
cross-indexed — here  she  is.  Now  you've  only  got  to 
compare  these  two  faces — Miss  Enid  Brown  and  Mrs. 
Horace  Brown — Miss  Carter  that  was — taking  Reigate 
into  consideration — to  make  it  quite  plain  that  they 
are  mother  and  daughter.  You  see  it  at  once,  don't 
you?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Humphrey.  "  Same  silly  sort  of 
simper." 

"  Oh,  well,  I  don't  know  about  that.  But  that  isn't 
the  point.  The  point  is  that  this  particular  work  of 
mine,  which  I  just  took  up  five-and-twenty  years  or  so 
ago  to  amuse  myself  with,  is  developing  into  something 
that  will  be  of  the  greatest  importance  to  the  nation  by 
and  by.     When  I  die  I've  a  jolly  good  mind  to  leave  it 


278  THE    ELDEST    SON 

to  the  British  Museum;  or  if  I  could  get  some  fellow 
to  leave  some  money  and  have  it  carried  on — why, 
there's  no  telling  what  it  wouldn't  come  to.  Here 
you're  beginning  to  have  an  illustrated  register  of  every 
single  soul  in  the  country  that  amounts  to  anything. 
If  you're  good  enough  to  have  your  portrait  in  some 
paper  you're  good  enough  to  go  down  to  posterity  in 
my  collection.  I  tell  you,  it's  monumental.  Already 
I've  got  thousands  and  thousands  of  portraits — not 
only  of  people  like  ourselves  that  you  can  look  up  in 
a  book,  but  of  thousands  of  others — quite  respectable 
people — and  at  all  stages.  Why,  if  I  were  to  begin 
to  publish  the  whole  thing  in  parts  I  should  make  a 
fortune,  and  I've  a  jolly  good  mind  to  see  some  pub- 
lisher and  get  it  done.  There  isn't  a  soul  whose  name 
was  represented  who  wouldn't  buy  it.  I  can  tell  you 
it's  turning  into  a  jolly  big  thing." 

"  Well,  it  is  rather  interesting,"  said  Humphrey. 
*'  What  have  you  got  about  the  Clintons.^  " 

"  Oh,  of  course,  I've  got  a  separate  book  about  the 
Clintons.  Like  to  see  it.'^  You'll  find  some  pictures 
of  your  little  lot  there." 

"  Well,  if  I  may,  some  other  time,"  said  Humphrey. 
"  My  train  goes  in  half  an  hour,  and  I  must  be  getting 
off.  Then  you've  no  objection  to  my  urging  my  suit? 
I  believe  that's  the  correct  expression." 

"  Not  a  bit  in  the  world,  my  dear  fellow,"  replied 
Lord  Aldeburgh.  "  I'm  not  much  of  a  family  man. 
I'm  too  busy.  But  from  what  I've  seen  of  her  I  should 
say  Susan  would  make  you  a  good  wife,  and  I'm  sure 
you'll  make  her  a  good  husband.  So  I  wish  you  every 
sort  of  good  luck.    And  now  I  must  get  to  work  again." 

So,  blessed  with  Lord  Aldeburgh's  approval,  Hum- 
phrey went  down  to  Thatchover,  and  found  a  party 
of  considerable  size  assembled  there,  all  bent  on  ex- 
tracting as  much  amusement  as  possible  out  of  the 
passing  hours. 


COUNTING   HIS    CHICKENS       S79 

He  arrived  at  dusk  and  found  the  family  and  its 
guests  assembled  in  the  big  hall  of  the  house.  The 
men  had  been  shooting,  the  women  playing  bridge,  for 
the  weather  was  too  raw  for  them  to  care  about  leaving 
the  warmth  of  the  house.  Humphrey  received  a  some- 
what vociferous  welcome,  for  there  was  no  one  in  the 
house  with  whom  he  was  not  on  terms  of  intimacy,  and 
felt  cheered  by  the  warmth  of  social  intercourse  into 
which  he  was  plunged.  "  This  really  is  rather  jolly," 
he  said  to  Susan  Clinton,  with  whom  he  found  himself 
presently  sitting  a  little  apart  from  the  noisy  central 
group.  "  I  don't  know  that  I  ever  want  anything  bet- 
ter than  a  big  house  in  the  country  and  to  have  it  filled 
with  jolly  people." 

"  I  shouldn't  like  to  live  in  the  country  all  the 
year  round,"  said  Susan.  "  You'd  soon  get  out  of 
touch." 

"  Oh,  lor',  yes,"  said  Humphrey.  "  I  didn't  mean 
that.  Look  at  my  people  at  Kencote.  It's  jolly  enough 
there  every  now  and  then  in  the  winter  when  there's 
something  to  do,  although  it  isn't  exactly  gay.  But  to 
settle  down  there  year  in  and  year  out  for  ever — I'd 
just  as  soon  emigrate.  And  that's  what  I  want  to  talk 
to  you  about.  Things  are  going  all  right  for  us.  We 
shall  have  enough  to  get  along  on.  I  tell  you,  I'm  in 
high  favour.  But  the  idea  is  that  we  shall  set  up  In 
the  dower-house,  and " 

"  Oh,  but  that  will  be  delightful !  "  Susan  Interrupted 
him.  "  With  all  those  jolly  old  things!  And  the  pres- 
ents we  shall  have !  Humphrey,  how  ripping !  And 
there's  plenty  of  room  to  have  people  there.  If  we  can 
afford  to  do  things  well " 

"  Yes,  that'll  be  all  right,"  said  Humphrey.  "  But 
the  idea  is  that  we  shall  cut  all  the  rest.  I'm  to  give 
up  my  job,  which  I  don't  care  about  either  one  way 
or  the  other,  except  that  it  keeps  me  about  where  I 
want  to  be,  and  I'm  to  be  sort  of  head  bailiif.     That's 


280  THE    ELDEST    SON 

the  scheme,  as  it's  shaping  itself  out.  Question  is 
whether  it's  good  enough." 

"  Do  you  mean  we  shouldn't  be  allowed  to  go  to  Lon- 
don at  all?  " 

"  Oh,  allowed !  We  could  go  up  for  a  day  or  two 
now  and  again — though  if  I  know  my  respected  parent 
there  would  be  black  looks  even  at  that,  if  we  did  it 

too   often — but   as   for   anything  more   than   that 

No,  it's  meant  and  it's  intended  to  mean  that  I  join 
the  governor  in  business.  He's  really,  if  you  look  at 
it  properly,  a  farmer  in  a  big  way,  and  he's  not  very 
good  at  it,  though  he  thinks  he  is.  It's  where  I  come 
in  over  Dick  that  he  must  have  somebody  to  help  him 
out  of  the  muddles  he  makes,  and  that  w^ill  be  a  pretty 
stiff  job,  and  there  won't  be  much  running  away 
from  it." 

"  Then  j^ou  mean  we  can't  even  pay  visits.^  " 

"  Precious  few  of  'em.  We  shall  be  expected  to  stay 
at  home  and  lead  the  domestic  life.  Are  w^e  cut  out 
for  it,  Susan  .P  " 

She  smiled  at  him,  and  slipped  her  hand  into  his. 
"  I  shan't  mind  very  much,  Humphrey,"  she  said. 

Humphrey  returned  her  pressure.  "  Good  girl !  "  he 
said.  "  I  don't  know  that  I  shall  either  for  a  few  years. 
But  we'd  better  look  it  all  in  the  face.  We  shall  feel 
cut  off,  there's  no  doubt  of  it.  But  there's  this  to  be 
said,  it  won't  last  for  ever.  If  we're  submissive  now — 
well,  in  the  long  run  we  shall  come  off  all  right.  Ques- 
tion is,  can  you  make  up  your  mind  to  stand  it  for  as 
long  as  may  be  necessary.'^  " 

"  I  can  if  3^ou  can,"  said  Susan. 

"  Oh,  I  shall  be  better  off  than  you.  I'm  afraid 
there's  no  doubt  you'll  be  dull  at  times.  We'll  have  our 
own  friends  to  stay  with  us,  but  there  won't  be  much 
going  on  at  home  to  enliven  us.  It  isn't  like  other  big 
houses  in  the  country.  Still,  there  are  the  kids. 
They're  growing  up,  and  they're  pretty  bright.     You 


COUNTING   HIS    CHICKENS       281 

ought  to  get  some  fun  out  of  them,  and  it'll  be  a 
goclsend  to  them  to  have  somebody  like  you  about  the 
place." 

"  I'm  not  certain  that  they  care  for  me  much,"  said 
Susan ;  "  and  I'm  a  little  afraid  of  them.  In  fact,  I'm 
rather  afraid  of  all  your  family,  Humphrey.  Do  you 
think  Mrs.  Clinton  likes  me.''  " 

"  Oh,  of  course  she  does,"  said  Humphrey.  "  You'll 
get  on  well  with  the  whole  bunch  of  them.  And  as  for 
the  governor,  you've  only  got  to  flatter  him  a  bit  and 
avoid  treading  on  his  corns,  and  you  can  live  in  his 
pocket — if  you  want  to.  I  say,  Susan,  excuse  my  ask- 
ing, but  is  your  own  papa  all  there.'*  " 

Susan  laughed.  "  He  has  never  grown  up.  That's 
all,"  she  said.  "  But  his  tastes  are  harmless  enough. 
Think  what  it  would  be  if  he  had  a  taste  for  running 
after — well — er — you  know — like  Clinton.  He  doesn't 
really  spend  much  money.     There  are  worse  fathers." 

Humphrey  digested  this  point  of  view.  "  Well,  1 
think  I  would  rather  have  mine,"  he  said,  "tiresome  as 
he  can  be,  and  is,  sometimes.  Anyhow  he's  going  to  do 
the  right  thing  by  us.  I  needn't  go  into  details,  but 
you'll  be  able  to  have  some  pretty  frocks,  old  girl ;  and 
you  may  find  yourself  in  a  big  house  before  you've 
done,  yet." 

Their  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  breaking 
up  of  the  tea-party  and  the  setting  up  of  the  bridge 
tables.  Bridge  was  the  serious  pursuit  at  Thatchover, 
and  it  was  only,  so  to  speak,  at  off  times  that  the  house- 
hold indulged  in  their  tastes  for  romps.  There  was 
never  any  paltering  with  the  valuable  hours  between 
five  o'clock  and  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  there 
were  few  of  the  present  party  who  showed  any  inclina- 
tion to  shirk  their  duty,  even  to  the  extent  of  sitting 
out  a  rubber.  But  as  the  total  number  of  players  was 
divisible  by  two,  but  not  by  four,  two  of  them  were 
obliged  to  sit  out,  and  Lady  Aldeburgh  suggested  to 


28S  THE    ELDEST    SON 

Humphrey  that  he  and  she  should  have  a  little  talk 
and  cut  in  later.  "  I  hate  doing  it,"  she  said,  "  because 
there's  a  certain  sense  of  satisfaction  in  sitting  down 
to  begin,  which  you  miss  if  you  wait  till  everything  is 
in  full  swing.  Still,  it  would  look  well  for  me  to  appear 
self-sacrificing,  and  if  you  don't  mind  we'll  get  our 
little  chat  over  now,  for  I'm  dying  to  hear  what  3'ou've 
managed  to  fix  up." 

Humphrey,  sitting  with  her  in  a  corner  by  the  fire 
away  from  the  green  tables,  put  her  in  possession  of 
the  state  of  affairs.  "  There'll  be  at  least  fifteen  hun- 
dred a  year,  and  probably  more,"  he  concluded,  "  and 
that  ought  to  make  it  good  enough." 

"  If  that  were  all,  it  wouldn't  be  good  enough,"  said 
Lady  Aldeburgh  decisively.  "  You  and  Susan  couldn't 
live  on  fifteen  hundred  a  year  or  anything  like  it.  I 
shouldn't  consider  it  for  a  moment." 

"  Oh  yes,  you  would,"  said  Humphrey  calmly.  "  Still, 
it  isn't  all.  We're  to  have  a  house,  for  one  thing — a 
house  more  than  half  furnished,  and  there'll  be  all  sorts 
of  perquisites.  I'm  to  go  in  for  the  land  agency  busi- 
ness ;  and  by  and  by,  if  I  behave  myself,  as  I  mean  to, 
and  Susan  behaves  herself,  as  she  means  to  do,  we  shall 
be  very  well  off." 

"What  on  earth  are  you  talking  about.?"  enquired 
Lady  Aldeburgh,  thoroughly  bewildered.  "  The  land 
agency  business " 

"  We  are  to  live  at  the  dower-house  at  Kencote,"  said 
Humphrey.  "  I  don't  think  you  saw  it,  but  it's  a  top- 
ping little  house.  And  I'm  to  help  the  governor  look 
after  things.     That's  the  scheme." 

"  My  dear  Humphrey  !  What  absolute  nonsense  !  " 
exclaimed  Lady  Aldeburgh.  "  You  and  Susan  burying 
yourselves  in  the  country !  Why,  you'd  be  bored  stiff 
in  a  week,  and  you'd  get  sick  to  death  of  one  another 
in  a  month.  You  can't  seriously  consider  such  a  ridicu- 
lous scheme." 


COUNTING    HIS    CHICKENS       28e3 

"Why  ridiculous?"  enquired  Humphrey.  "We're 
in  the  country  at  this  moment,  and  we're  not  bored  stiff 
— far  from  it." 

"  That's  entirely  different,  a  big  house,  with  crowds 
of  people  whenever  you  want  them — and  in  winter, 
when  there's  something  for  the  men  to  do.  To  settle 
down  for  good !  and  at  a  place  like  Kencote !  Well,  I 
don't  want  to  be  rude  to  your  people,  but  I  ask  you, 
are  they  alive  or  dead.''  " 

Humphrey  flushed.  "  My  people  are  all  right,"  he 
said,  keeping  his  voice  level.  "  And  Susan  will  get  on 
with  them.  You  needn't  worry  yourself  about  that  side 
of  the  question." 

"  I  can't  help  it  if  you  are  angry  with  me,"  said 
Lady  Aldeburgh,  with  a  slight  recurrence  to  her  in- 
fantile manner.  "  I  say  what  I  think,  and  although  I 
have  the  greatest  possible  respect  for  your  people,  it 
would  drive  me  crazy  to  live  in  the  way  they  do.  And 
I'm  not  going  to  let  Susan  be  killed  and  buried  and 
made  miserable  for  life." 

"All  right,"  said  Humphrey.  "Then  I'd  better 
pack  up  and  clear  off." 

"  Oh,  don't  be  silly.  If  you  can  screw  a  couple  of 
thousand  a  year  out  of  your  father,  with  the  little  bit 
that  Susan  will  have,  which  will  pay  for  her  frocks,  you 
could  take  a  nice  little  flat  and  be  fairly  comfortable. 
I  shouldn't  mind  your  waiting  for  the  rest  to  come 
later." 

"  If  I  do  that,  the  rest  won't  come  later ;  it  won't 
come  at  all.  Dick  has  kicked  over  the  traces,  and  I'm 
to  take  his  place — to  a  certain  extent.  I  don't  want  to 
think  too  much  about  all  that,  but  you  force  me  to 
say  it.  You  understand  the  situation  well  enough  if 
you'd  give  your  mind  to  it.  I  don't  want  to  bury  my- 
self in  the  country  all  the  year  round  any  more  than 
you  would ;  but,  hang  it !  isn't  it  worth  making  some 
sacrifice  for  a  time?     Besides,  it's  such  nonsense  to  talk 


284  THE    ELDEST    SON 

as  if  living  in  the  country,  and  living  comfortably  too, 
within  three  hours  of  London,  were  the  same  thing  as 
going  off  to  Siberia  or  somewhere.  Anyhow,  we're  go- 
ing to  live  at  Kencote.  I'm  game  and  Susan's  game. 
We  don't  ask  you  to  come  and  live  with  us." 

"  Now  you're  positively  insulting,"  said  Lady  Alde- 
burgh,  entirely  recovering  her  good-humour,  for  this 
was  the  way  she  liked  to  be  treated  by  good-looking 
young  men.  It  implied  that  she  appeared  as  young  as 
she  felt.  '*  Of  course  if  you  have  made  up  your  mind 
to  hoe  turnips  for  the  rest  of  your  life,  you  naturally 
wouldn't  expect  me  to  come  and  hoe  them  with  you,  and 
I  shouldn't  come  if  you  did.  The  question  is,  will  Susan 
be  happy  hoeing  turnips  .^  That's  what  I  have  to 
look  at." 

"  I  dare  say  you  will  be  pleased  to  do  an  occasional 
week-end's  hoeing,"  replied  Humphrey.  "  And  as  for 
Susan,  I've  already  told  you  she's  ready  to  hoe  as  long 
as  is  necessary.  Please  don't  upset  her  about  it.  We 
are  going  to  eat  our  bread  and  butter  quite  contentedly 
for  a  few  3^ears,  and  we  shall  get  the  jam  by  and  by. 
If  you  put  your  oar  in  and  try  and  upset  things,  we 
shan't  get  nearly  so  much  bread  and  butter,  and  we 
shall  miss  the  jam  altogether.  After  all,  it's  a  question 
for  us  to  decide ;  and  we've  already  decided.  We're 
going  to  be  a  good  little  boy  and  girl,  and  if  all  goes 
well,  by  and  by  we  shall  be  little  county  magnates.  I 
believe  that's  the  proper  expression." 

"  What  is  your  father  going  to  do  ?  "  asked  Lady 
Aldeburgh.  "  Let's  put  it  quite  plainly,  as  we  are 
talking  confidentially.  Is  he  going  to  make  an  eldest 
son  of  you.P  Is  Dick  finally  out  of  the  way.?  I  know 
he's  going  to  marry  Virginia  Dubec  in  spite  of  every- 
thing. Does  your  father  still  refuse  to  see  him — or  to 
see  hevy  which  is  more  to  the  point,  for  I'm  not  a  cat 
like  some  women,  and  I'll  say  this,  that  I  believe  if  he 
were  to  see  her  she  would  get  round  him;  for  she's  a 


COUNTING    HIS    CHICKENS       285 

beautiful  creature  and  could  turn  any  man  round  her 
little  finger  if  she  cared  to  try." 

"  She  won't  have  a  chance  of  trying  with  him,"  re- 
plied Humphrey.  "  You  may  make  your  mind  easy 
as  to  that.  As  for  Dick,  I  suppose  he's  seeing  him  at 
this  moment.  He  was  going  down  to  Kencote  this 
afternoon." 

"  What!     Oh,  then  they've  made  it  up?  " 

"  No,  they  haven't.  Neither  side  budges.  Dick  Is 
going  to  marry  Virginia,  as  you  say,  and  Dick's  father 
has  sworn  to  leave  all  he  can  away  from  him  if  he  does. 
Both  of  them  will  keep  their  word,  for  they're  both  as 
obstinate  as  the  devil.  But  they  are  going  to  patch 
up  a  sort  of  peace,  and  I'm  not  altogether  sorry.  Dick 
hasn't  behaved  particularly  well  to  me,  and  I  should  be 
a  humbug  if  I  pretended  that  I  wanted  him  to  get  back 
what's  now  coming  my  way.  But  I  don't  want  him  to 
feel  left  out  in  the  cold  altogether." 

'•  How  very  sweet  and  forgiving  1  Are  you  sure  that 
he  won't  persuade  your  father  to  change  his  mind.'^" 

"  He  won't  try." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  "^  " 

"  Because  I  know  Dick." 

"  I  suppose  you  wired  to  say  you  were  coming  down 
here  because  you  didn't  want  to  meet  him?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  did.  We  might  have  had  a  row.  I 
haven't  done  anything  to  persuade  the  governor  to  alter 
his  will,  as  he's  going  to  do,  but  it's  going  to  be  altered 
in  my  favour,  and  Dick  might  not  feel  inclined  to  do 
me  justice  over  the  matter.  I  don't  want  a  row  with 
him.  We've  been  fairly  good  pals  so  far,  and  I  don't 
want  to  be  open  enemies  with  him.  Besides,  Kencote 
wilLbelong  to  him  some  day,  and " 

"  Well,  when  it  does  you  won't  be  there  any  longer." 

"  Yes,  I  shall.  I'm  to  have  Partisham — that's  pretty 
well  settled.  There  would  be  an  explosion  of  wrath 
and  surprise  if  I  intimated  that  I  knew  that  and  was 


286  THE   ELDEST    SON 

counting  on  it;  but  you  can  see  the  governor's  brain 
working  all  the  time.  He  lets  everything  out,  and  he's 
let  out  that.  It's  only  a  question  of  one  farm  at  pres- 
ent. I  may  get  it  with  the  rest,  or  it  may  go  to  Walter, 
for  there's  an  old  manor-house  on  it,  and  he  thinks  it 
would  do  for  Walter  to  do  up  and  live  in  when  he  gets 
tired  of  doctoring.  He  can't  quite  make  up  his  mind, 
but  it's  only  a  hundred  and  fifty  acres  out  of  about 
two  thousand,  and  it  doesn't  much  matter  one  way  or 
the  other." 

"  Well,  you  seem  pretty  sure  about  it.  I  hope  you 
may  not  be  making  a  mistake.  If  I  were  Dick  I  should 
certainly  have  a  try  at  getting  back  what  he's  lost. 
Where  is  this  place  you're  going  to  have  ?  " 

"  The  house  is  about  four  miles  from  Kencote,  and 
the  property  adjoins.  My  great-grandfather  bought 
it  with  money  his  brother  left  him,  and  some  of  it  is 
good  building  land  on  the  outskirts  of  Bathgate.  I've 
never  been  inside  the  house ;  it's  let  to  a  doctor  and  used 
as  a  private  lunatic  asylum." 

"  That's  pleasant !  " 

"  It's  a  fine  house,  and  the  property  is  rising  in  value 
every  year.  I  shall  be  a  richer  man  than  Dick  before 
I've  done." 

"  How  mercenary  you  are !  Well,  I  suppose  it's  all 
right,  as  you  say  so,  and  I  must  give  my  consent.  Oh, 
look,  there's  a  table  up.  Come  on !  I  feel  as  if  Vm 
going  to  win  stacks." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

VIRGINIA    GOES    TO    KENCOTE 

"  My  dear  Lady  George  Dubec  "  [wrote  Mrs.  Clinton], 
"  My  husband  and  I  will  be  glad  if  you  will  come  to 
us  here  when  you  return  to  Meadshire,  which  Dick  tells 
me  will  be  next  Wednesday.  We  shall  be  pleased  to 
welcome  you  at  Kencote  and  to  make  your  acquaint- 
ance. We  shall  be  pleased  also  to  see  Miss  Dexter, 
and  perhaps  you  will  kindly  tell  her  so,  and  let  me 
know  if  she  will  accompany  you. 

"  With  kindest  regards  to  yourself  and  to  her, 
"  Believe  me, 

"  Very  sincerely  yours, 

"  Nina  Clinton." 

"  There !  "  said  Virginia,  tossing  this  missive  over  to 
her  companion.  She  had  opened  Dick's  much  longer 
letter,  which  had  come  by  the  same  post,  first  of  all, 
and  half-way  through  its  perusal  had  searched  for  Mrs. 
Clinton's  amongst  the  rest.  Now  she  returned  to  Dick's, 
while  Miss  Dexter  read  Mrs.  Clinton's. 

"  What  on  earth  does  it  all  mean  ?  "  asked  Miss  Dex- 
ter. "  Has  the  world  come  to  an  end,  or  has  that  pre- 
posterous old  bear  come  to  his  senses  at  last.?  " 

"  It  means,  my  dear  Toby,"  said  Virginia,  looking  up 
at  her  with  a  happy  smile,  "  that  all  this  horrible  busi- 
ness is  at  an  end.  Dick  has  fought,  and  Dick  has  won. 
And  we  owe  everything  to  the  help  that  his  dearest  of 
dear  mothers  has  given  us.  I  knew  I  should  love  that 
woman  from  the  first  time  I  set  eyes  on  her,  and  now 
I  adore  her.     Three  cheers  for  Mrs.  Clinton." 

She  waved  Dick's  letter  over  her  head.     Miss  Dex- 

287 


288  THE    ELDEST    SON 

ter  looked  down  again  at  Mrs.  Clinton's,  and  then  again 
in  dry  surprise  at  her  friend.  "  And  do  you  really 
mean  to  tell  me,"  she  asked,  "  that  you  are  satisfied 
with  this  as  an  atonement  for  everything  they  have 
made  you  go  through.'^  I  never  read  such  a  letter — 
as  cold  and  unwilling  as  she  is  herself.  I'll  tell  you 
what  will  happen,  Virginia,  if  you  go  to  Kencote.  You 
will  simply  be  insulted.  Do  you  think  people  like  that 
can  change.^  Not  a  bit  of  it.  '  Kindest  regards,'  in- 
deed !  She  may  keep  her  kindest  regards  to  herself 
as  far  as  I'm  concerned." 

"  Oh,  Toby,  don't  be  so  tiresome!  "  Virginia  adjured 
her.  "  You  know  you're  just  as  pleased  as  I  am — or 
very  nearly.  Shall  we  go  straight  to  Kencote  from 
London,  or  go  to  Bathgate  and  leave  some  things  at 
Blay thorn  and  pick  up  some  others.'^  I  think  we'll  do 
that.  I  must  take  my  smartest  frocks,  and  so  must 
you.  For  you  are  really  quite  presentable  if  you  would 
only  give  yourself  a  chance." 

"  You  may  leave  me  out  of  it,"  said  Miss  Dexter. 
"  I'm  as  likely  to  go  to  Kencote  as  I  am  to  W^indsor 
Castle.  If  you  like  to  put  your  head  into  the  bear's 
den  and  say  '  Thank  you  for  having  tried  to  eat  me 
up,  and  now  by  all  means  finish  me  off,'  you  can.  I  have 
a  little  more  self-respect,  and  nothing  would  induce  me 
to  go  near  those  people." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Virginia,  "  you  are  still  huffy  because 
Mrs.  Clinton  snubbed  you.  Quite  right  of  her!  You 
are  a  dear,  loyal,  faithful  creature,  and  I  know  you 
would  follow  me  to  much  more  terrible  places  than  Ken- 
cote, where  you  will  find  yourself  in  a  week's  time;  but 
you  had  no  business  to  go  interfering  without  consult- 
ing me  about  it.  I'm  too  fond  of  you  to  snub  you, 
as  you  so  often  deserve,  so  I'm  quite  pleased  when  other 
people  do  it  for  me." 

"  Yes,  that's  all  I  get  for  trying  to  help  you,"  said 
Miss  Dexter.     "What  do  you  suppose  has  happened.^ 


VIRGINIA   GOES    TO    KENCOTE    289 

Has  Captain  Dick  told  them  that  jou  have  money? 
That's  the  only  thing  I  can  think  of  that  would  make 
that  purse-proud  old  lunatic  change  his  mind." 

"  He  doesn't  say  anything  about  that,  and  I'm  sure 
he  hasn't  told  them.  /  shall  tell  Mr.  Clinton,  and  it 
will  make  him  love  me  even  more  than  I'm  going  to  make 
him  as  it  is.  I  know  I'm  talking  nonsense,  but  in  the 
state  of  mind  I  find  myself  in  at  present  that  can't  be 
helped.  No,  Toby  dear,  it  is  Mrs.  Clinton  who  has  done 
it  all.  My  Dick  says  so.  She  was  always  on  our  side. 
She  liked  the  look  of  me,  Toby,  odd  as  it  may  seem 
to  you ;  and  if  she  could  have  got  round  the  old  bear's 
prejudices — but  I  mustn't  call  him  that  any  longer — 
she  would  have  done  so  before.  I  knew  I  was  right 
about  her.  It  was  the  only  thing  I  didn't  quite  like 
about  Dick — that  he  seemed  always  to  think  she  was  of 
no  account.  Now  he  has  come  round,  and  my  cup  of 
happiness  is  brimming  over.  Oh,  Toby,  I've  never  been 
so  happy  in  my  life  before."  She  put  her  handkerchief 
to  her  eyes,  but  she  smiled  gaily  through  her  tears. 

"  Quite  so,"  returned  Miss  Dexter,  unmoved  by  this 
show  of  emotion.  "  You're  all  for  the  moment.  Next 
week,  when  you  are  alone  amongst  them  all,  and  they 
show  you  what  they  really  think  of  you,  you  will  never 
have  been  so  miserable  in  your  life.  People  like  that 
don't  change.  They  haven't  got  it  in  them.  And  you 
are  laying  up  a  most  uncomfortable  time  for  yourself. 
I  give  you  solemn  warning.  I  know  what  I'm  talking 
about.  I'm  not  carried  away  by  sentiment  as  you  are. 
Don't  go,  Virginia.     Don't  make  yourself  cheap." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Virginia  in  gentle  seriousness,  "  if 
I  were  really  making  myself  cheap  by  going  to  Ken- 
cote,  I  would  go,  if  Dick  asked  me  to.  I  can  never  be 
cheap  to  him.  He'll  be  there,  and  nothing  that  can 
happen  will  touch  me.  But  nothing  will  happen — noth- 
ing disagreeable.     Why  should  you  think  so.^  " 

Miss  Dexter  threw  out  her  hands.     "  Oh,  when  you 


290  THE    ELDEST    SON 

talk  like  that ! "  she  said.  "  Well,  go,  my  dear,  and 
good  luck  go  with  you." 

"  You  are  my  good  luck,  and  you  will  go  with  me," 
said  Virginia.  "  Now,  Toby  darling,  don't  say  no. 
You  have  done  so  much  for  me.  Surely  you  can  do 
this." 

"  I  suppose  I  can,"  said  Miss  Dexter  after  a  short 
pause.  "  But  if  Mrs.  Clinton  thinks  I'm  going  to  fall 
into  her  arms  after  her  treatment  of  me,  she'll  find  her- 
self mistaken.  And  if  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst 
I  can  tell  Mr.  Clinton  what  I  think  of  him.  I  should 
like  an  opportunity  of  doing  that.  Yes,  I'll  come, 
Virginia." 

They  went  straight  to  Kencote  from  London,  the 
state  of  Virginia's  travelling  wardrobe  having  been  de- 
cided to  be  capable  of  answering  all  necessary  calls 
on  it,  and  Miss  Dexter  having  declared  that  if  she 
appeared  as  a  dowdy,  she  would  find  others  to  keep 
her  company  at  Kencote  in  spite  of  the  airs  they  gave 
themselves. 

At  the  railway  terminus  Humphrey  Clinton  came  up 
to  them.  "  Hulloa !  "  he  said  in  the  somewhat  ofF-hand 
manner  he  adopted  towards  most  ladies  of  his  acquaint- 
ance.    "Going  back  to  Blaythorn?" 

"  No,"  said  Virginia.  "  We  are  going  to  Kencote. 
So  are  you,  I  suppose.''  We  will  travel  down  together, 
and  you  shall  smoke  to  me." 

Miss  Dexter's  sharp  eyes  were  upon  him,  and  she  saw 
him  flinch,  although  Virginia  did  not.  It  was  the 
merest  twitch  of  a  muscle,  and  he  had  recovered  him- 
self instantly.  "  That's  first  class,"  he  said.  "  And 
this  seems  to  be  First  Class  too.     Shall  we  get  in  here?  " 

"  That  nice-looking  porter  with  the  grey  beard  has 
found  us  a  carriage,"  said  Virginia.  "  If  we  all  three 
spread  ourselves  over  it  nobody  will  come  in,  and  you 
can  smoke  when  once  the  train  has  started." 

"  You  had  better  sit  at  the  other  end  of  the  car- 


VIRGINIA    GOES   TO    KENCOTE   291 

riage,  then,"  said  Humphrey,  "  and  pull  your  veil  down, 
or  else  everybody  will  want  to  come  in." 

"  Now,  Toby,  don't  you  call  that  a  perfectly  lovely 
speech?  "  asked  Virginia. 

Miss  Dexter  emitted  a  sound  indicative  of  scorn, 
but  made  no  verbal  reply,  and  they  walked  down  the 
platform.  A  lady  with  spectacles,  an  unbecoming  felt 
hat  and  a  short  skirt,  was  coming  towards  them,  and 
as  they  approached  one  another  she  and  Miss  Dexter 
exclaimed,  simultaneously,  and  then  shook  hands  with 
expressions  of  pleasure.  Miss  Dexter  then  introduced 
the  lady  with  the  spectacles  to  Virginia,  as  an  old 
schoolfellow,  Janet  Phipp,  whom  she  had  not  met  for 
years  and  years,  and  who  had  not  changed  in  the 
least   in   the   meantime,   and   asked  her   where   she  was 

going.  ^         . 

"  I  am  going  to  a  place  called  Kencote,"  said  Miss 
Phipp ;  "  as  governess,"  she  added  uncompromisingly, 
with  an  eye  on  Virginia's  fur  and  feathers  and  Hum- 
phrey's general  air  of  opulence. 

"  Oh,  but  that's  where  we  are  all  going !  "  cried  Vir- 
ginia. "  How  jolly!  And  this  is  Mr.  Humphrey  Clin- 
ton, the  brother  of  your  pupils." 

Humphrey  shook  hands  with  Miss  Phipp.  "  You'll 
find  them  a  rare  handful,"  he  said. 

"  That  won't  worry  me  in  the  least,"  said  Miss  Phipp. 

"  We'll  all  travel  down  together,"  said  Virginia, 
"  and  you  shall  be  told  all  about  the  twins.  I've  never 
met  them,  and  I'm  dying  to." 

"  I'm  going  second  class,"  said  Miss  Phipp,  and  Mis-s 
Dexter  said,  "  I'll  go  with  you.  Virginia,  I  shall  just 
have  time  to  change  my  ticket."  She  dashed  off  to  the 
booking-office. 

"  That's  so  like  Toby,"  said  Virginia.  "  Always 
impulsive.  She  might  have  thought  of  changing  Miss 
Phipp's  ticket.  What  was  she  like  at  school,  the  dear 
thing.?  " 


29^  THE    ELDEST    SON 

"  Excellent  at  mathematics,"  replied  Miss  Phipp. 
"  Languages  weak,  as  far  as  I  remember." 

The  train  slipped  off  on  its  two  hours'  non-stop  run, 
with  Virginia  and  Humphrey  in  one  carriage  and  Miss 
Dexter  and  Miss  Phipp  in  another.  The  two  ladies 
had  much  to  say  to  one  another  as  to  the  course  of 
their  respective  lives  since  they  had  last  met.  Miss 
Phipp's  career  had  been  one  of  arduous  work,  punctu- 
ated by  continental  trips  and  an  occasional  period  of 
bad  health.  "  I  suppose  I  have  worked  too  hard,"  she 
said.  "  The  doctors  all  say  so,  although  I  can't  say 
I've  ever  been  aware  of  it  while  I've  actually  been 
working.  If  I  can't  work  I'd  just  as  soon  not  live,  and 
I've  always  had  just  the  work  that  suited  me.  It's  a 
blow  to  have  to  give  it  up.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  my 
health  I  should  have  been  head-mistress  of  a  big  school 
long  ago,  and  I'd  have  shown  them  what  women's  edu- 
cation could  be.  Now  I've  got  to  settle  down  to  take 
two  girls  instead  of  two  hundred,  and  I  suppose  if  I 
try  to  teach  them  anything  I  shall  be  thwarted  at  every 
turn.  Girls  ought  to  be  sent  to  school.  I've  no  opin- 
ion of  home  education,  and  these  two  don't  seem  to 
have  been  taught  anything.  I'm  low  about  it,  Mar- 
garet. Still,  I've  got  to  do  it,  for  a  bit  anyhow,  and 
if  they've  got  any  brains  I'll  knock  something  into 
them,  if  I'm  allowed  to.  However,  we  needn't  worry 
ourselves  about  all  that  now.  What  have  you  been 
doing?  Leading  a  life  of  luxury  and  gaiety,  I 
suppose." 

The  smile  with  which  she  asked  her  question  was 
affectionate.  She  had  been  a  big  girl  at  the  school 
when  Margaret  Dexter  had  been  a  little  one,  and  had 
mothered  her.  Margaret  Dexter's  father  had  been  a 
consulting  physician  with  a  large  practice.  She  had 
lived  In  different  surroundings  from  most  of  her  school- 
fellows. 

"  I've  always  had  rather  more  luxury  than  I  cared 


VIRGINIA    GOES    TO    KENCOTE   293 

about,"  replied  Miss  Dexter.     "  As  for  gaiety,  I  don't 
care  about  that  at  all.     I'm  not  cut  out  for  it." 

Her  companion  regarded  her  with  more  attention 
than  she  had  jet  bestowed.  "  You  have  grown  to  look 
very  sensible,"  she  said. 

"  Thanks,"  replied  Miss  Dexter.  "  That  means  that 
my  appearance  is  not  prepossessing.  I've  always 
known  that,  and  it  doesn't  bother  me  a  bit." 

Miss  Phipp  laughed.  "  It  is  all  coming  back  to  me," 
she  said.  "  At  first,  except  that  your  face  is  much 
the  same,  I  should  hardly  have  recognised  you  for  the 
little  girl  I  used  to  be  so  fond  of.  But  you  haven't 
altered,  Margaret.  You  are  just  as  direct  as  ever. 
I  believe  I  first  taught  you  to  be  direct." 

"  If  you  did,  you  had  easy  ground  to  work  on," 
replied  Miss  Dexter. 

"  I  suppose  I  had.  But  aren't  you  doing  anything, 
Margaret.'^  You're  not  just  spending  your  life  like 
other  rich  people — going  about  and  amusing  yourself.? 
You  weren't  like  that  as   a  child." 

"  I'm  not  rich,"  returned  Miss  Dexter.  "  My  fa- 
ther died  too  young  to  make  a  lot  of  money.  And  as 
for  doing  something,  I'm  companion  to  Lady  George 
Dubec." 

Miss  Phipp  was  visibly  taken  aback.  "  Oh !  "  she  ex- 
claimed ;  and  after  a  pause  said,  "  I'm  sorry.  Still, 
if  you're  obliged  to  earn  your  living,  I  should  have 
thought  you  might  have  done  something  more  useful 
than  going  out  as  a  companion  to  a  lady  of  fashion." 

Miss  Dexter  coloured  and  then  laughed.  "  It's  all 
coming  back  to  me  too,"  she  said.  "That's  what  you 
used  to  call  talking  straight,  and  we  used  to  call 
Janet's  manners.  If  it  is  any  comfort  to  you  to  know 
it,  I  don't  have  to  earn  my  own  living — I  only  said  I 
wasn't  rich.  I  live  with  Virginia  Dubec  because  I  love 
her,  and  I  share  some  of  the  expenses.  I'll  tell  you  how 
much  I  pay  if  you  like." 


^94  THE    ELDEST   SON 

"  Oh,  don't  be  silly,"  said  Miss  Phipp.  "  You  said 
you  were  her  companion,  and  I  took  that  to  mean  what 
anybody  would.  Then  you're  not  doing  anything,  and 
I'm  sorry  for  it.  However,  we  needn't  quarrel  about 
that.  What  are  these  people  like  I'm  going  to?  I've 
seen  Mrs.  Clinton,  and  on  the  whole  I  like  her." 

"  Well,  I  don't,"  said  Miss  Dexter,  "  and  if  I 
weren't  such  a  fool  as  to  follow  Virginia  about  wherever 
she  wants  to  go  to,  as  if  she  were  a  baby,  I  shouldn't 
go  within  a  mile  of  Mrs.  Clinton.  I  don't  mind  telling 
you,  as  you're  bound  to  find  out  for  yourself  directly 
you  get  to  Kencote,  that  Virginia  is  going  to  marry 
Captain  Clinton,  the  eldest  son,  and  the  whole  family 
have  hitherto  turned  up  their  stupid  noses  at  her.  Now 
he  seems  to  have  persuaded  them  to  inspect  her  and 
see  whether  she'll  do,  after  all.  She's  worth  a  hundred 
of  the  whole  lot  of  them  put  together,  except,  perhaps. 
Captain  Clinton  himself,  who  has  behaved  fairly  well. 
No,  I'll  do  him  justice — he's  behaved  quite  well.  He's 
all  right.  But  Mrs.  Clinton — well,  you  say  you  like  her, 
but  you'll  see ;  as  for  Mr.  Clinton,  he's  the  most  odious, 
purse-proud,  blood-proud,  ignorant  old  pig  you'll  find 
anywhere." 

"  H'm  !  "  commented  Miss  Phipp  drily.  "  Seems  a 
nice  sort  of  family  I'm  going  to.  What's  that  youth 
travelling  with  your  Lady  Virginia,  or  whatever  her 
name  is — what's  he  like?  " 

"  What  he  looks  like,"  replied  Miss  Dexter  shortly. 

"And  the  girls  I'm  going  to  teach?" 

"  I  don't  know  them,  and  don't  want  to." 

"  But  you  will,  if  you're  going  to  stay  in  the  house. 
And  you  must  have  heard  about  them." 

"  Well,  I  believe  they're  rather  fun,"  admitted  Miss 
Dexter  grudgingly.  "  And  they're  reported  to  be 
clever.  Still,  they've  been  boxed  up  at  home  all  their 
lives,  and  can't  know  much.  I  expect  you'll  have  your 
work  cut  out." 


VIRGINIA   GOES   TO    KENCOTE   295 

"  They'll  have  their  work  cut  out,"  returned  Miss 
Phipp  grimly,  "  and  they'll  have  to  do  it  too.  I  do 
hate  having  to  go  out  as  a  governess,  ^Margaret." 

Miss  Dexter  glanced  at  her  friend,  who  was  so  plain 
as  to  be  almost  unfcminine,  and  looked  jaded  and  un- 
well besides ;  she  had  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  suburban 
landscape  now  flying  past  at  sixty  miles  an  hour,  ai:d 
something  in  her  aspect  caused  Miss  Dexter's  heart  to 
contract.  "  Poor  old  Janet,"  she  said,  "  I  don't  sup- 
pose it  will  be  as  bad  as  you  expect.  I'm  a  brute  to  be 
trying  to  put  you  against  them.  You  won't  see  much 
of  Mr.  Chnton,  and  he  probably  won't  bother  you  when 
you  do.  As  for  Mrs.  Clinton,  if  you  want  the  truth, 
she  once  gave  me  a  snub,  and  I  feel  catty  about  her; 
so  you  needn't  take  any  notice  of  what  I  say.  The 
children  are  real  characters,  with  any  amount  of  brains, 
and  you'll  have  a  great  opportunity  with  them  if  you 
can  keep  them  in  order." 

Miss  Phipp  brightened  up.  "  Ah,  that's  better  hear- 
ing," she  said.  "  As  for  keeping  them  in  order,  after 
a  class  of  thirty  High  School  girls,  that's  child's 
play." 

"  Well,  I  don't  want  to  paint  too  bright  a  picture,' 
said  Miss  Dexter,  "  and  from  what  I've  heard  of  them 
I  don't  think  that  it  will  be  quite  that." 

In  the  meantime  Virginia  and  Humphrey  were  get- 
ting on  very  well  in  their  more  luxurious  compartment. 
Humphrey  had  expressed  his  pleasure  at  the  opening 
up  of  the  home  of  his  fathers  to  his  brother's  expectant 
bride,  and  in  such  a  fashion  that  Virginia  had  warmed 
to  him  and  told  him  exactly  how  things  stood. 

"  You  see,  I'm  going  on  what  the  shops  call 
'  appro,'  "  she  said.  "  If  they  don't  like  me  they  can 
turn  me  out  again." 

"  And  if  they  do  like  you,"  said  Humphrey,  "  which, 
of  course,  they  will " 

"  Then  all  will  be  well,'*  concluded  Virginia. 


296  THE    ELDEST    SON 

He  looked  out  of  the  window  before  he  asked,  care- 
lessly, "  I  suppose  Dick's  there?  " 

"  Of  course  Dick's  there,"  said  Virginia.  "  You 
don't  suppose  I  should  venture  into  the  lion's  den 
without  my  Dick  to  support  me,  do  you?  Dear  old 
Dick !     I'm  glad  he's  made  it  up  with  your  father." 

"  So  am  I,"  said  Humphrey,  after  the  minutest 
pause.  "  Family  quarrels  are  the  devil  and  all.  And 
there  was  no  sense  in  this  one.  I  suppose  he's  chucked 
the  idea  of  Yorkshire,  and  he's  returned  to  the  bosom 
of  the  fold." 

"  Oh,  good  gracious,  no  !  "  said  Virginia.  "  At  least 
he  hasn't  said  so.  Why  should  he,  anyway?  I  guess 
we  shall  want  all  the  dollars  we  can  grab  at.  A  wife's 
an  expensive  luxury,  you  know,  Mr.  Humphrey." 

"  Especially  a  wife  like  you,"  returned  Humphrey 
genially.  "  Still,  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  you  find 
Yorkshire  '  off '  when  you  get  to  Kencote.  If  the  gov- 
ernor has  come  round  about  you,  he'll  probably  come 
round   about — about   other  things." 

"You  mean  money?"  said  Virginia.  "We're  not 
bothering  ourselves  about  that." 

*'  Fow're  not,  perhaps." 

"  You  mean  that  Dick  is  ?  I  don't  know  anything 
about  it,  and  I  don't  care.  That's  not  what  I'm  going 
to  Kencote  for.  Why  do  men  always  think  such  a  lot 
about  money,  I  wonder?  " 

"  Ah,  I  wonder,"  said  Humphrey. 

The  four  travellers  joined  up  at  Bathgate,  where 
they  had  to  change,  and  travelled  to  Kencote  together 
in  a  second-class  carriage,  on  Virginia's  decision,  which 
Humphrey  accepted  with  some  distaste,  but  did  not 
combat. 

Dick  and  the  twins  were  on  the  platform  at  Ken- 
cote. The  twins  were  inveterate  train-meeters,  when- 
ever the}^  were  allowed  to  be,  and  Dick  had  brought 
them  this  evening  with  the  idea  of  packing  them  and 


VIRGINIA    GOES    TO    KENCOTE   297 

Miss  Dexter  and  Miss  Phipp  into  one  carriage  and 
accompanying  Virginia  in  the  other.  But  Humphrey  had 
not  been  expected,  and  tlie  greeting  between  the  broth- 
ers was  not  particularly  cordial.  However,  he  grasped 
the  situation  when  he  saw  a  landau  and  a  brougham  in 
waiting  outside  instead  of  the  station  omnibus,  which 
he  had  expected  to  see,  and  solved  it  by  announcing  his 
intention  of  walking. 

"  VV^e  would  come  with  you,  darling,"  said  Joan  in  an 
aside,  "  but  we  must  see  it  out  with  our  image.  What's 
she  like,  Humphrey?  " 

"  Oh,  most  lovable — as  you  can  see,"  replied  Hum- 
phrey, disengaging  his  arm  and  setting  out  into  the 
darkness. 

When  the  carriage  into  which  the  twins  had  packed 
themselves  with  Miss  Phipp  and  Miss  Dexter  had  rolled 
off  in  the  wake  of  the  other.  Miss  Phipp  said,  "  Well, 
girls,  I  hope  we  shall  get  on  well  together.  You're 
not  afraid  of  hard  work,  I  suppose.'^  " 

"  Oh  no,"  replied  Joan  readily ;  "  we're  looking  for- 
ward to  it  immensely." 

"  You  will  find  our  diligence  one  of  our  best  points," 
said  Nancy.  "  If  at  first  we  don't  succeed  we  ahvays 
try,  try,  try  again." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  except  for  the  sharp 
trot  of  the  horse's  hoofs  and  the  wheels  rolling  on  the 
frosty  road.  Then  Miss  Dexter  laughed  suddenly. 
"  There,  you're  answered,"  she  said  to  Miss  Phipp. 
"  Let's  put  them  through  an  examination.  What  do 
you  know  of  mathematics.'^" 

"  Don't  be  foolish,  Margaret,"  said  Miss  Phipp 
sharply.  "  They  must  not  begin  by  making  fun  of 
their  lessons." 

"  Oh,  but  we  shouldn't  think  of  doing  that,"  said 
Joan. 

"  They're  far  too  serious,  and  we  have  been  taught 
not  to  make  fun  of  serious  things,"  said  Nancy. 


298  THE    ELDEST   SON 

Miss  Dexter  laughed  again.  "What  do  you  know 
of  mathematics?"  she  asked. 

"  Nancy  is  not  good  at  them,"  replied  Joan.  "  She 
got  as  far  as  the  asses'  bridge  in  Euclid,  with  the 
starling,  our  last  governess,  and  then  she  struck,  as 
you  might  expect.  Her  strong  point  is  literature.  She 
writes  poems  that  bring  tears  to  the  eyes." 

"  Joan-s  weak  point  is  history,"  said  Nancy.  "  She 
thought  Henry  the  Eighth  was  a  widower  when  he 
married  Anne  Boleyn,  and  Starhng  made  her  learn 
all  his  wives  in  order  before  she  went  to  bed." 

"  That  will  do,  girls,"  said  Miss  Phipp  firmly.  "  And 
if  Miss  Starling  was  the  name  of  your  last  governess, 
please  call  her  so." 

The  ensuing  silence  was  broken  by  a  smothered  gig- 
gle from  Joan,  which  Nancy  covered  up  by  asking  in 
a  rather  shaky  voice  of  Miss  Dexter  whether  she  and 
Miss  Phipp  had  known  each  other  before. 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Dexter,  "  we  were  at  school  to- 
gether— oh,  years  ago — and  have  never  seen  each  other 
since,  until  we  met  on  the  platform.  Funny,  wasn't 
it.?     I  say,  is  there  a  ghost  at  Kencote?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  it  isn't  old  enough,"  replied  Joan.  "  But 
there's  one  at  the  dower-house — an  old  man  in  one  boot 
who  goes  about  looking  for  the  other  one." 

"That's  a  jolly  sort  of  ghost,"  said  Miss  Dexter. 
"  Do  you  know  who  he  was  "^  " 

"  He  is  supposed  to  have  been  an  ancestor  in  the 
time  of  Charles  the  Second — he's  dressed  like  that — 
who  kicked  his  servant  to  death,  and " 

"  We've  got  some  topping  ancestors,"  put  in  Nancy. 
"  There's  a  book  about  them.  Joan  and  I  read  it  the 
other  day.  One  of  them  was  called  Abraham,  and  he 
said  if  he  had  a  name  like  that  he  must  live  up  to  it, 
so  he  called  his  sons  Jacob  and  Esau " 

"  He  only  had  one  and  he  called  him  Isaac,"  inter- 
rupted Joan.     "  You  have  got  it  wrong." 


VIRGINIA   GOES    TO    KENCOTE   299 

"  That  will  do,"  said  Miss  Phipp  decisively,  and 
just  then  the  carriage  clattered  under  the  porch  and 
came  to  a  standstill. 

The  Squire  had  not  been  able  to  bring  himself  to 
meet  his  guests  in  the  hall,  as  was  the  hospitable  cus- 
tom at  Kencote.  He  had  meant  to  do  so.  He  had 
given  in  on  the  main  point  on  which  he  had  held  out 
so  long,  and  honestly  intended  to  behave  well  about 
it.  He  had  gone  to  and  fro  between  his  room  and  the 
morning-room  across  the  hall,  standing  first  before  the 
fire  near  which  his  wife  was  sitting,  and  then  reading 
the  Times  for  a  few  minutes  in  his  own  easy-chair,  and 
when  the  wheels  of  the  first  carriage  had  been  heard, 
and  Mrs.  Clinton  had  put  aside  her  work  and  risen  ac- 
cording to  custom,  he  had  gone  out  with  her  into  the 
hall.  But  when  the  servants  came  through  to  the  door 
he  thought  that  they  cast  curious  looks  at  him,  as  pos- 
siblj''  they  did,  and  he  bolted  suddenly  back  to  the 
shelter  of  his  room,  and  stood  there  listening,  until  the 
door  of  the  morning-room  was  shut  and  the  noises  out- 
side had  ceased. 

Then  he  grew  ashamed  of  himself.  What  would 
Dick  think  of  him.^^  If  he  delayed  any  longer  it  would 
look  as  if  he  were  holding  off,  after  all — refusing  to 
put  at  her  ease  and  make  welcome  a  guest  in  his  own 
house.  So  he  gathered  up  his  courage,  settled  his 
waistcoat,  and  walked  boldly  into  the  morning-room, 
and  straight  up  to  Miss  Dexter,  who  was  nearest  to  the 
door,  and  with  whom  he  shook  hands  warmly,  some- 
what to  her  confusion,  before  he  distinguished  Virginia, 
w^ho  had  risen  when  he  came  in. 

Her  colour  was  high,  and  her  eyes  sparkling,  but 
she  smiled  in  his  face,  and  said,  as  Americans  do  on 
an  introduction,  "  Mr.  Clinton,"  and  then  waited  for 
him  to  speak,  still  standing  and  looking  straight  into 
his  eyes,  with  the  smile   that   invited  friendliness. 

The  Squire  turned  away   from  her   somewhat   con- 


300  THE    ELDEST   SON 

fused,  and  said,  "Tea  ready,  Nina?  Lady  George 
must  be  cold  after  her  journey.  What  sort  of  weather 
was  it  in  London?  " 

Miss  Dexter  repHed  to  the  question,  as  his  brows 
had  been  bent  upon  her  when  it  was  asked.  She  said 
it  was  rather  raw,  and  the  answer  seemed  to  satisfy 
him,  for  he  left  that  subject  and  remarked  that  the 
Radicals  seemed  to  be  making  a  disgraceful  mess  of  it 
as  usual,  and  if  this  sort  of  thing  went  on  we  should 
all  be  driven  out  of  the  country. 

This  led  nowhere,  and  that  awful  pause  seemed  likely 
to  ensue  where  people  ill  at  ease  with  one  another  search 
for  topics  to  hide  up  their  discomfort.  But  Virginia, 
who  had  sat  down  again,  said,  "  Mr.  Clinton,  have  you 
ever  forgiven  us  for  heading  back  the  fox  ?  " 

"  Eh  1  What !  "  asked  the  Squire,  with  a  lively  rec- 
ollection of  the  rebuke  he  had  administered  on  the 
occasion  referred  to. 

Virginia  laughed,  "  You  were  terrible,"  she  said. 
"  But  you  had  every  right  to  be  terrible.  I'd  never 
done  such  a  thing  before,  and  I  hope  I  shall  never  do 
such  a  thing  again.  I  feel  like  getting  under  the  sofa 
every  time  I  think  of  it." 

The  Squire  thought  the  last  statement  just  slightly 
verging  on  indelicacy,  but  its  effect  on  his  mind  was 
only  momentary,  so  relieved  was  he  at  having  a  sub- 
ject held  out  to  him.  Deep  down  in  his  heart  he  held 
to  his  aversion  to  Virginia,  and  nothing  in  her  appear- 
ance or  attitude  had  in  the  least  softened  it.  But,  ex- 
ternally, it  had  to  be  covered  up,  and  because  she  of- 
fered him  a  covering  he  was  grateful,  and  for  the 
moment  well  disposed  towards  her. 

"Ladies  who  come  into  the  hunting-field,"  he  said, 
with  a  near  approach  to  a  smile,  "  and  turn  foxes,  must 
expect  to  be  spoken  sharply  to." 

This  was  enough  for  Virginia  to  go  on  with,  but  not 
for  Miss  Dexter,  who  had  heard  the  words^  but  missed 


VIRGINIA    GOES    TO    KENCOTE    301 

the  smile.     "  It  is  like  interfering  with  a  child's  toys," 
she  said.     "  He  forgets  his  manners  for  the  moment." 

The  Squire  bent  a  look  of  puzzled  displeasure  on  her, 
but  before  her  words  could  sink  in,  Virginia  said, 
"  Toby,  don't  be  tiresome.  You  don't  know  anything 
whatever  about  hunting,  and  you  are  so  absurdly  vain 
that  you  can't  bear  to  be  corrected  when  you've  done 


wronsf." 


Dick  laughed  and  said  to  his  mother,  "  Miss  Dexter 
gets  a  good  deal  of  correction  and  puts  up  with  it  like 
an  angel.     She's  not  in  the  least  vain,  really." 

"  Nothing  much  to  be  vain  of,"  said  Miss  Dexter, 
with  complete  equanimity. 

The  Squire  was  still  looking  at  her  as  if  adjusting 
his  mind  to  her  presence  and  potentiahties,  and  she 
looked  up  at  him  and  said,  "  Miss  Phipp,  your  chil- 
dren's governess,  is  an  old  friend  of  mine.  We  were 
at  school  together."  Then  she  looked  down  again  and 
took  a  sip  of  tea. 

The  Squire  seemed  at  a  loss  to  know  what  use  to 
make  of  this  piece  of  information,  but  Dick  said,  "  She 
looks  as  if  she  would  be  able  to  handle  them  all  right." 

"  You  mean  that  she  is  plain,"  said  Miss  Dexter. 

"  You  seem  to  be  in  a  very  bad  humour,"  Dick  re- 
torted. 

"  She's  in  an  atrocious  humour,"  said  Virginia. 
"  She  always  is  when  she's  been  travelHng.  She  will 
pick  up  and  be  thoroughly  amiable  when  she's  had  two 
cups  of  tea." 

"  Do  let  me  give  you  another  one,"  said  Mrs.  Clin- 
ton, with  a  kind  smile,  and  everybody  laughed,  includ- 
ing the  Squire,  a  second  or  two  late. 

Conversation  went  fairly  easily  after  that,  and  by 
and  by  Mrs.  Clinton  took  Virginia  and  Miss  Dexter 
up  to  their  rooms.  Never  very  ready  of  speech,  she 
had  little  to  say  as  they  went  up  the  staircase  and 
along  the   corridors,   but   when   she   had  shown   them 


SOa  THE    ELDEST    SON 

their  rooms,  which  were  adjoining,  she  asked,  "  Would 
you  hke  to  come  and  see  the  children  in  their  quarters? 
I  hope  they  are  making  Miss  Phipp  feel  at  home." 

"  I  should  love  to,"  said  Virginia ;  and  Miss  Dexter 
said,  "  They  ought  to  have  come  to  some  understand- 
ing by  now." 

Joan  and  Nancy  were  sitting  one  on  either  side  of 
Miss  Phipp  at  the  tea-table.  Their  demure  air,  which 
did  not  quite  correspond  to  the  look  in  their  eyes, 
probably  warned  Mrs.  Clinton  that  if  any  understand- 
ing had  been  come  to  it  was  of  a  one-sided  nature,  but 
Miss  Phipp  looked  comfortable  both  in  mind  and  body, 
and  said,  as  she  rose  from  the  table,  "  We  have  been 
having  a  good  talk  about  our  future  plans.  We  are 
going  to  do  a  great  deal  of  hard  work  together,  and 
put  all  our  minds  into  it." 

The  twins,  for  once,  forbore  to  add  to  a  statement 
of  that  nature.  Their  bright  eyes  were  fixed  full  upon 
Virginia,  who  smiled  radiantly  on  them  and  said, 
"  What  a  lovely  schoolroom  you  have !  I  shouldn't 
mind  working  in  a  room  like  this." 

"  It. is  rather  nice,"  said  Joan.  "  Miss  Starling,  our 
last  governess,  taught  us  to  keep  it  in  order." 

"  Miss  Starhng  seems  to  have  taught  them  some 
very  useful  things,"  said  Miss  Phipp,  with  firm  com- 
placency. "  She  was  with  you  for  a  good  many  years, 
was  she  not,  Mrs.   Clinton.?" 

"  Her  name  was  '  Miss  Bird,'  "  said  Mrs.  Clinton. 
"  We  were  all  very  fond  of  her,  and  the  boys  gave  her 
a  nickname  out  of  affection." 

"  Oh ! "  said  Miss  Phipp,  casting  a  glance  of  disap- 
proval on  the  twins,  who  met  it  with  eyes  of  blameless 
innocence. 

Later  on  when  the  twins  went  to  their  room  to  change 
their  frocks  they  dismissed  Hannah  from  attendance  on 
them.  "  We  have  something  to  talk  over,"  said  Joan, 
"  and  we  can  do  without  you  this  evening." 


VIRGINIA   GOES    TO    KENCOTE   303 

"  You  had  better  wait  outside  on  the  mat  and  we'll 
call  you  if  we  want  you,"  said  Nancy. 

"  Indeed,  Miss  Nancy,  I  should  demean  myself  by 
doing  no  such  thing,"  said  the  indignant  Hannah.  "  If 
you  wish  to  talk  between  yourselves  as  well  I  know  what 
you  want  to  talk  about,  though  deny  it  you  may, 
straight  downstairs  do  I  go,  and  you  may  do  your 
'airs  yourself,  for  I  shall  not  come  up  again  till  it's 
time  to  tidy." 

"  Hurry  up,"  said  Nancy.     "  We'll  ring  if  we  want 

you." 

When  Hannah  had  departed  Joan  said,  "  Well,  what 

do  you  think  of  her?  " 

"  Who  do  you  mean — Virginia,  or  Pipp,  or  Toby.?  " 

"  Virginia,  of  course.  I  think  she's  rather  sweet. 
She's  worth  ten  of  sweet  Sue  CHnton,  anyhow." 

"  That's  not  saying  much  for  her.  I  think  she's  all 
right,  though.  But  I  haven't  seen  any  signs  of  the 
chocolates  yet." 

"What   chocolates.?" 

"  I  thought  she'd  be  sure  to  bring  us  a  great  big 
expensive  box  tied  up  with  pink  ribbons,  so  as  to  make 
friends  with  us  and  get  us  on  her  side." 

"  I  shouldn't  have  thought  nearly  so  much  of  her 
if  she  had.  What  I  like  about  her  is  that  she  doesn't 
toady.  She  knows  she's  got  to  make  a  good  impression, 
but  she  doesn't  show  she's  trying.  I'm  sure  mother 
likes  her." 

"  We  haven't  seen  her  with  father  yet." 

"  We  shall  at  dinner.  I  really  think  she's  rather  a 
darling,  Nancy.     I  think  I  shall  give  in." 

Nancy  announced  her  intention  of  holding  out  a  lit- 
tle longer  just  to  make  sure.  "  She's  just  the  merest 
trifle  too  sweet  for  my  taste,"  she  said.  "  I  must  be 
quite  certain  that  it's  part  of  her  first." 

"  I'm  sure  it's  part  of  her,"  said  Joan.  "  She  isn't 
lany  sweeter  than  Aunt  Grace,  and  you  like  her," 


304  THE    ELDEST    SON 

"  Aunt  Grace  is  too  sweet  for  my  taste,  although  it 
is  part  of  her,  and  isn't  put  on.  I  Hke  people  with 
more  character.     Toby,  now — she's  a  ripper." 

"  Yes,  I  like  her,"  admitted  Joan.  "  She  likes  us  too. 
I  think  she  wants  to  egg  us  on  to  deal  with  Pipp." 

"  We  shan't  want  much  egging.  We've  got  her  a 
bit  puzzled  alread3^  I  don't  think  she's  a  bad  sort, 
you  know,  Joan.  I  thought  she'd  give  us  bread  and 
water  when  mother  went  away." 

"  She's  not  quite  sure  of  herself  yet.  We'll  go  on 
playing  at  being  High  School  girls  for  a  bit.  It's 
rather  fun.     Don't  they  wear  their  hair  in  pigtails?  " 

"  We  might  plait  our  hair  after  breakfast  to-mor- 
row. And  they  always  say  *  Yes,  Miss  Phipp,'  '  No, 
Miss  Phipp.'     You  know  that  story  we  read?  " 

"  We'll  go  through  it  again.  We'll  do  all  the  proper 
things  at  lesson  time,  and  outside  the  schoolroom  we'll 
be  our  own  sweet  selves.  It  will  be  rather  a  bore  going 
for  walks  with  her." 

"  She  can't  be  allowed  to  be  instructive  then." 
"  Rather  not.     She'll  want  firm  handling,  but  I  think 
we  shall  be  equal  to  it." 

"  It  may  come  to  a  tussle.  But  we've  only  got  to 
keep  our  heads.  There  are  two  of  us,  and  there's  only 
one  of  her.  We'll  be  kind  but  firm,  and  when  she's 
learnt  her  place  I  dare  say  we  shall  get  on  all  right, 
and  everything  will  go  swimmingly.  What  has  Han- 
nah done  with  my  hair-ribbon?  Ring  the  bell  loud, 
Joan,  and  go  on  ringing  till  she  comes  up." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

A    LAWN    MEET 

The  Squire  may  have  forgotten,  when  lie  gave  his 
consent  to  Virginia  being  asked  to  Kencote  on  this 
particular  date,  that  on  the  following  day  the  hounds 
would  meet  at  Kencote,  and  there  was  to  be  a  hunt 
breakfast.  He  had  his  due  share  of  stupidity,  but  he 
was  clever  enough  to  see,  when  he  did  realise  what  had 
happened,  that  Virginia's  presence  at  Kencote  on  so 
public  an  occasion  would  spread  abroad  the  fact  of  his 
surrender  as  nothing  else  could  do  so  pointedly. 

He  did  not  half  like  it.  He  was  not  quite  sure  in  his 
mind  exactly  what  he  had  surrendered  by  consenting 
to  receive  her,  but  he  was  quite  sure  that  he  had  never 
meant  to  give  up  his  right  to  make  her  first  visit  her 
last  if  he  did  not  approve  of  her,  and  when  the  mild 
January  day  dawned  and  he  went  into  his  dressing- 
room  it  was  with  a  mind  considerably  perplexed,  for 
he  did  not  know  whether  he  approved  of  her  or  not, 
and  yet  here  were  all  these  people  coming,  who  would 
see  her  there,  and  possibly — the  more  officious  of  them — 
actually  go  so  far  as  to  congratulate  him  on  the  ap- 
proaching marriage  in  his  family. 

He  had  gone  as  far  as  that.  He  recognised  that, 
whatever  he  thought  about  the  matter  himself,  the  rest 
of  the  world,  as  represented  by  the  people  amongst 
whom'  he  lived,  would,  undoubtedly,  hold  that  there  was 
cause  for  congratulation.  He  even  went  a  little 
further,  without  admitting  it  to  himself :  he  accepted 
the  general  verdict  of  his  neighbours,  that  Virginia  was 
a  very  beautiful  and  a  very  taking  person.  Only  he 
had  not  taken  to  her  himself.     She  had  tried  him  hard, 

305 


306  THE    ELDEST    SON 

during  the  previous  evening,  and  several  times,  espe- 
cially after  his  first  glass  of  port,  he  had  nearly  allowed 
himself  to  fall  a  victim  to  her  charm.  But  he  had  just 
managed  to  hold  out,  and  in  the  cold  light  of  morning, 
and  removed  from  her  presence,  thinking  also  of  the 
company  that  was  presently  to  assemble,  he  frowned 
when  he  thought  of  her,  and  said  aloud  as  he  brushed 
his  hair,  which  he  always  did  the  first  thing  in  the  morn- 
ing, even  before  he  looked  at  the  weather-glass,  "  Con- 
found the  woman  !  Infernal  nuisance  !  I  wish  the  day 
was  well  over." 

Presently,  however,  his  thoughts  grew  rather  lighter. 
It  was  a  perfect  day  for  his  favourite  sport,  and  he 
was  going  to  hunt  once  more.  He  felt  as  eager  as  a 
schoolboy  for  it.  Having  received  Virginia  in  his 
house,  there  was  no  object  in  seeking  to  avoid  her  in 
the  field,  and  the  relief  to  his  mind  in  having  nothing 
before  him  actually  to  spoil  his  pleasure  in  a  day  with 
the  hounds  was  so  great  that  it  reacted  on  his  view  of 
Virginia,  and  he  said,  also  aloud,  as  he  folded  his  stock, 
"  I  wonder  if  she'll  do  after  all." 

But  no ;  that  was  too  much.  Of  course  she  wouldn't 
do.  She  was  an  American — well,  perhaps  that  could 
be  forgiven  her:  she  was  not  glaringly  transatlantic. 
She  had  been  a  stage-dancer.  You  had  to  remind  your- 
self of  the  fact,  but  there  was  no  doubt  that  it  was  a 
fact.  Ugh!  She  was  the  widow  of  a  rascal,  living  on 
the  money  he  had  left  her,  which  had  been  got,  prob- 
ably, by  the  shadiest  of  courses,  if  not  dishonestly. 
That  was  positively  damning,  and  he  could  not  under- 
stand how  Dick  could  complaisantly  accept  such  a 
situation  and  prepare  to  live  partly  upon  it.  But  per- 
haps she  had  very  little  money  and  was  deeply  in  debt, 
and  there  would  be  difficulty  about  that  later  on.  He 
had  not  thought  of  that  before,  and  slid  away  from 
the  thought  now,  as  quickly  as  possible.  He  did  not 
want  to  spoil  his  daj's  pleasure.     3ut  a  gloomy  tinge 


A   LAWN    MEET  SOT 

was  imparted  to  his  thoughts,  and  again  he  frowned 
at  the  idea  of  what  lay  before  him  when  the  neighbours 
for  miles  round  would  be  collected  and  he  would  have 
his  difficult  part  to  play  before  tliem. 

Virginia  came  down  to  breakfast  in  her  riding  habit, 
which  is  a  becoming  costume  to  no  woman  unless  she 
is  on  a  horse.  The  Squire  had  an  old-fashioned  grudge 
against  hunting-women  in  general,  and  he  was  not  cor- 
dial to  Virginia,  although  he  made  every  effort  to  act 
conformably  to  his  duties  as  her  host.  Whatever  in- 
roads she  might  have  made  on  his  prejudice  against 
her  on  the  previous  evening  when,  in  a  dress  of  black 
chiffon  with  touches  of  heliotrope  about  her  neck  and 
in  her  lustrous  hair,  she  had  looked  lovely  and  sur- 
prisingly young,  she  held  small  charm  for  him  now, 
and  it  was  with  difficulty  that  he  brought  himself  to  be 
polite  to  her,  as  she  sat  at  his  right  hand  during 
breakfast. 

Fortunately  some  distraction  was  afforded  to  him  by 
the  presence  of  Miss  Phipp,  to  whom  he  had  just  been 
introduced  for  the  first  time.  He  found  her  astonish- 
ingly plain,  and  he  was  the  sort  of  man  who  finds  food 
for  humour  in  the  contemplation  of  a  plain  woman. 
But  in  his  present  mild  state  of  discomfort  he  found  no 
food  for  humour  in  Miss  Phipp's  obvious  disregard  of 
her  proper  position  in  the  house.  Miss  Bird  had  never 
spoken  at  the  breakfast  table  unless  spoken  to.  She 
would  have  considered  it  immodest  to  do  so.  Miss 
Phipp  bore  a  leading  part  in  the  conversation,  and  as 
she  had  only  one  subject — the  education  of  the  young, 
in  which  the  Squire  possessed  no  overmastering  interest 
— by  the  end  of  the  meal  he  was  seriously  considering 
the  necessity  of  giving  her  a  snub. 

Miss  Phipp's  thesis,  which  she  developed  with  con- 
siderable force,  and  a  wealth  of  illustration  drawn  from 
her  previous  experience,  was  that  a  woman's  brains  were 
every  bit  as  good  as  a  man's,  and  that  she  could  do 


308  THE    ELDEST   SON 

just  as  much  in  the  way  of  scholarship  if  her  training 
began  early  and  was  carried  on  on  the  right  lines. 

"  What  do  you  think  about  it  ?  "  Miss  Dexter  asked 
of  Nancy,  who  was  sitting  next  to  her. 

"  I  think,"  replied  Nancy,  with  a  side  glance  at  Miss 
Phipp,  "  that  it  depends  a  great  deal  on  the  teacher," 
at  which  Miss  Dexter  laughed,  thus  giving  the  answer  a 
personal  application. 

*'  Of  course  it  depends  a  great  deal  upon  the  teacher. 
That  is  exactly  what  I  said,"  Miss  Phipp  went  on. 
*'  When  I  was  at  the  High  School  there  was  a  girl 
who  had  taken  the  highest  possible  honours  at  London 
University,  but  she  was  of  no  more  use  as  a  teacher 
than — than  anything.  Teaching  is  a  gift  by  itself, 
and  sometimes  the  best  scholars  do  not  possess  it." 

"  I  think  we  shall  find  a  fox  in  Hartover,"  said  the 
Squire.  "  I  believe  that  fellow  they  lost  a  month  ago 
has  taken  up  his  quarters  there." 

"  At  the  same  time,"  said  Miss  Phipp,  "  for  the 
higher  forms  of  a  school  you  must  have  women  who  are 
good  scholars  as  well  as  with  a  gift  for  teaching." 

When  breakfast  was  over  the  twins  went  out  of  the 
room  one  on  each  side  of  Miss  Dexter,  to  whom  they 
had  taken  a  warm  fancy,  and  invited  her  to  visit  their 
animals  with  them.  But  Miss  Phipp  said  at  once,  "  Oh, 
but  I  shall  want  you  in  the  schoolroom,  girls.  We  are 
not  to  begin  lessons  uhtil  Monday,  but  we  must  lose  no 
time  then,  and  I  want  to  find  out  beforehand  exactly 
where  you  are." 

The  twins  looked  at  one  another.  They  were  all 
standing  in  the  hall.  "  Saturday  is  a  whole  holiday," 
said  Joan. 

"  That  I  know,"  replied  Miss  Phipp,  "  but  it  is  im- 
portant that  we  should  begin  work  on  Monday  with- 
out any  delay.  You  can  spare  an  hour.  I  shall  prob- 
ably not  keep  you  longer." 

The  twins  looked  at  one  another  again,  and  then  at 


A    LAWN    MEET  309 

Miss  Dexter,  wlio  preserved  a  perfectly  passive  de- 
meanour. "  I  think,  if  you  don't  mind,"  said  Joan, 
"  we  would  rather  get  up  an  hour  earlier  on  ^Monday. 
We  always  feed  the  animals  ourselves  on  Saturdays, 
directly  after  breakfast." 

"  Are  you  going  to  begin  with  me  by  showing  dis- 
obedience? "  asked  Miss  Phipp.  "  I  must  insist  now 
that  you  shall  come  upstairs  with  me." 

The  High  School  girls  would  have  recognised  this 
tone  and  quailed  before  it.  But  Nancy  said,  "  We'll 
come  if  mother  says  we  must,"  and  Miss  Phipp  lost  pa- 
tience, and  w^ithout  another  word  walked  into  the  morn- 
ing-room, into  which  she  had  seen  Mrs.  Clinton  go  with 
Virginia. 

The  twins  looked  at  one  another  once  more,  and  then 
at  Miss  Dexter,  who  received  their  glance  w^ith  a  twin- 
kle in  her  eyes.     "  Now  you're  in  for  it,"  she  said. 

But  the  twins  were  rather  alarmed.  "  We  weren't 
rude  to  her,  were  w^e  ?  "  asked  Joan. 

"  Hadn't  we  better  go  in  to  mother.?  "  asked  Nancy. 

"  No,  it's  all  right ;  we'll  wait  here,"  said  Miss  Dex- 
ter, and  they  waited  in  silence  until  Miss  Phipp  marched 
out  of  the  morning-room,  passed  them  without  a  word, 
and  went  upstairs. 

"  Now  we'll  go  and  put  our  hats  on  and  go  out  and 
see  the  animals,"  said  Miss  Dexter;  but  just  then  Mrs. 
Clinton  came  out  to  them,  looking  rather  concerned, 
and  Miss  Dexter  left  them  and  joined  Virginia  in  the 
morning-room. 

"  What  happened  ^  "  she  asked  eagerly. 

"  My  dear  Toby,"  replied  Virginia,  "  are  you  going 
to  foment  a  quarrel  between  those  darling  children  and 
the  bosom  friend  of  your  childhood  ?  " 

"  No,  I'm  not,"  replied  Miss  Dexter.  *'  I'm  going  to 
put  her  in  the  way  of  settling  down  here.  What  hap- 
pened ?  " 

"  What  happened.''     Why,  she  came  in  looking  as  red 


310  THE    ELDEST    SON 

as  a  tomato,  and  said,  '  Mrs.  Clinton,  I  want  the  chil- 
dren to  come  into  the  schoolroom  for  an  hour,  and  they 
refuse.  Is  it  your  wish  that  they  shall  disobey  me.'^' 
or  something  like  that." 

"  They  didn't  refuse.    What  did  Mrs.  Clinton  say?  " 

"  She  said,  '  Oh,  surely  not.  Miss  Phipp,'  and  it 
kirned  out,  as  you  say,  that  they  had  only  said  that 
they  would  rather  not.  Then  Mrs.  Clinton  said  that 
she  didn't  want  them  to  work  on  Saturdays,  especially 
to-day,  because  of  the  meet,  and  the  friend  of  your 
childhood  flounced  out  of  the  room  without  another 
word.     Toby,  that  good  lady  is  as  hot  as  pepper." 

Then  Mrs.  Clinton  came  in  again,  and  said,  "  I 
want  the  children  to  take  Miss  Phipp  out  to  see  their 
animals  too.  They  have  gone  up  to  her.  Will  you 
go  too  ?  " 

But  Miss  Phipp  was  not  in  the  schoolroom.  "  You 
go  and  put  on  your  hats,  and  I'll  go  and  find  her," 
said  Miss  Dexter. 

"  Mother  wasn't  annoyed  with  us,"  said  Joan.  "  We 
said  we  were  quite  polite.     We  were,  weren't  we.'*  " 

"  Your  manners  were  a  lesson  to  us  all,"  said  Miss 
Dexter. 

Miss  Phipp  was  in  her  bedroom,  and  Miss  Dexter 
proffered  the  invitation,  of  which  she  took  no  notice. 
"  It's  perfectly  preposterous,"  she  said,  turning  an 
angry  face  upon  her.  "  If  this  is  the  sort  of  thing 
that  is  to  happen  my  position  here  will  be  im- 
possible." 

"  My  dear  girl,  you  shouldn't  lose  your  temper,"  said 
Miss  Dexter.  "  They  were  quite  right.  You've  no 
right  to  expect  them  to  work  in  their  playtime.  Be- 
sides, you  shouldn't  have  told  Mrs.  Clinton  that  they 
were  disobedient.  Come  out  and  see  their  rabbits  and 
guinea-pigs." 

"  I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  Miss  Phipp. 
*'  I  shall  reconsider  my  position,     I  will  not  stay  and 


A   LAWN    MEET  311 

teach  girls  who  are  encouraged  to  set  my  authority 
at  naught." 

"  Look  here,  Janet,"  said  Miss  Dexter  {irmly.  "  You 
are  going  the  wrong  way  to  work  here.  You  have 
every  chance  of  having  a  real  good  time,  and  doing 
something  useful  besides,  but  you  can't  behave  in  a 
private  family  as  if  you  were  in  a  school." 

For  answer  Miss  Phipp  burst  into  most  feminine 
tears.  "  I'm  not  well,"  she  sobbed.  "  I've  got  a  split- 
ting headache  after  yesterday's  journey,  and  I've  lost 
control  over  myself." 

"  Well,  lie  down  for  a  bit,"  advised  Miss  Dexter. 
"  You'll  have  the  whole  day  to  yourself,  and  you 
needn't  begin  to  think  about  work  until  Monday.  I'll 
put  a  match  to  your  fire.  Is  there  anything  you'd 
like.?     If  there  is  I'm  sure  you  can  have  it." 

"  I'm  a  fool,"  said  Miss  Phipp,  drying  her  eyes. 
"  For  goodness'  sake  don't  let  those  two  know  I  broke 
down.  I  dare  say  I  was  wrong,  but  I  do  want  to  do 
all  I  can  to  get  them  on  quickly." 

"  I  know  you  do.  And  you'll  have  no  difficulty  when 
the  proper  time  comes.  They're  clever  girls,  and  nice 
ones  too.  They  are  quite  upset  at  the  idea  of  having 
upset  you.'' 

"  Are  they.?  "  said  Miss  Phipp  drily.  "  Well,  I  think 
I  will  lie  down  for  a  bit  and  take  some  Phenacetin.  No, 
I  don't  want  anything  else.  If  I  do,  I  can  ring  the 
bell." 

So  she  was  left  to  herself,  and  Miss  Dexter  accom- 
panied the  twins  in  their  various  errands  of  mercy,  and 
expressed  unbounded  admiration  of  the  breeding  and 
intelligence  of  the  rodents  submitted  to  her  inspection, 
after  which  they  took  her  for  a  walk  round  the  rhodo- 
dendron dell. 

They  were  a  little  less  ready  with  their  conversation 
than  usual,  for  the  late  episode  had  been  something 
quite  new  in  their  experience  and  given  them  occasion 


312  THE    ELDEST    SON 

for  thought.  At  last  Miss  Dexter  said,  "  If  you  are 
worrying  about  Janet  Phipp,  I  shouldn't,  if  I  were 
you.  She's  a  good  sort,  and  you'll  get  on  with  her  all 
right." 

"  I  hope  we  shall,"  said  Joan,  "  but  I'm  inclined  to 
doubt  it.  She's  so  very  different  to  the  old  starling. 
We  had  any  amount  of  fun  with  her,  but  then,  we  loved 
her." 

"  Well,  you'll  love  Miss  Phipp  when  you  know  her. 
I've  known  her  for — well,  I  won't  tell  you  how  many 
years,  but  we're  neither  of  us  chickens,  as  you  can  see." 

"  And  do  you  love  her?  "  asked  Nancy. 

"  I  used  to,  and  I  should  again  if  I  saw  anything 
of  her." 

"  Well,  that's  something  in  her  favour,"  said  Joan. 
"  But  Nancy  and  I  wdll  have  to  talk  it  over  and  settle 
our   course  of  action." 

"  Well,  talk  it  over  now.  I  shan't  repeat  anything 
you  say." 

"  We  like  you  very  much,"  said  Nancy.  "  But  as 
you're  a  friend  of  hers,  we  might  not  like  to  speak  quite 
plainly.     It's  rather  a  serious  situation." 

"  Oh,  you  can  talk  quite  plainly  before  me.  I  can 
see  the  situation  well  enough,  and  it  isn't  as  serious  as 
you  think.  She  has  never  been  in  a  private  family 
before,  and  has  had  no  experience  except  with  a  horde 
of  schoolgirls.  Of  course  you  have  to  keep  a  tight  hand 
over  them,  and  when  they're  at  school  nobody  has 
authority  over  them  except  the  teachers.  She'll  soon 
tumble  to  it  that  your  mother  has  more  say  in  things 
than  she  can  have.  But  you  mustn't  always  be  appeal- 
ing to  your  mother  against  her." 

"  Of  course  we  shouldn't  do  that,"  said  Joan  indig- 
nantly.    "  We  never  did  with  Starling,  except  in  fun." 

"  Besides,  we  are  quite  capable  of  controlling  the 
situation  by  ourselves,  when  once  we've  settled  on  a 
course  of  action,"  said  Nancy. 


A   LAWN    MEET  31S 

Miss  Dexter  laughed.  "  I've  no  doubt  jou  are,"  she 
said.     "  Only  give  her  a  chance.     That's  all  I  ask." 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  object  to  our  exercising  our 
humour  on  her.?  "  asked  Nancy.  "  We  have  our  repu- 
tation to  keep  up.  And  you  must  admit  that  she  was 
rather  trying  this  morning." 

"  Look  here,"  said  Miss  Dexter.  "  She's  been  ill, 
and  she's  not  well  now.  You  may  think  it  funny,  but 
when  I  went  in  to  see  her  just  now  she  cried." 

"Oh,  poor  darling!"  exclaimed  Joan.  "Of  course 
we'll  be  kind  to  her,  won't  we,  Nancy.?  " 

"  We'll  think  it  over,"  said  Nancy.  "  We  mustn't 
be  sentimental.  You're  rather  inclined  to  it,  Joan. 
She  may  have  shed  tears  of  rage  at  being  thwarted." 

"  You're  a  beast,"  said  Joan  uncompromisingly.  "  I 
hate  to  think  of  people  being  unhappy." 

"  You  see,"  Miss  Dexter  put  in,  "  she's  suffering  un- 
der a  great  disappointment.  She's  a  splendid  teacher 
and  was  getting  on  awfully  well,  and  then  she  broke 
down  and  has  had  to  take  a  private  job.  Many  people 
would  much  prefer  to  live  in  a  place  like  this,  and  have 
a  good  time,  instead  of  toiHng  hard  at  a  school.  But, 
for  her,  it's  good-bye  to  a  career  in  life,  and  she  can't 
help  feeling  rather  sore  about  it." 

"  Poor  darling  !  "  exclaimed  Joan  again.  "  We'll 
take  her  to  our  hearts  and  make  up  for  it.  Don't  you 
be  afraid,  Toby  dear — you  don't  mind  us  calling  you 
that,  do  you.? — if  Nancy  misbehaves  I  know  how  to 
deal  with  her." 

"  I  don't  want  to  misbehave,"  said  Nancy,  "  and  if 
I  did  you  couldn't  stop  me.  If  she  treats  us  well  we'll 
treat  her  well.  I  shan't  make  any  rash  promises.  I 
think  we'd  better  be  getting  back  now.  People  will  be- 
gin to  turn  up  soon,  and  it's  such  fun  to  see  them." 

They  went  back  to  the  house,  and  presently  there 
came  riding  up  the  drive  two  men  in  pink,  and  imme- 
diately after  there  came  a  dogcart  and  then  a  carr-iage 


314  THE    ELDEST   SON 

and  then  more  men  on  horses  and  a  lady  or  two,  and 
after  that  a  constant  succession  of  riders  and  people 
on  wheels  and  on  foot,  until  the  open  stretch  of  park 
in  front  of  the  house  was  full  of  them. 

And  at  last  the  huntsman  and  whips  came  trotting 
slowly  along  the  drive  and  on  to  the  grass,  and  the 
hounds  streaming  along  with  them  waving  their  sterns, 
a  useful,  well-matched  pack,  much  alike  in  the  mass, 
but  each  with  as  much  individuality  as  the  men  and 
w  omen  who  thronged  around  them. 

Then  the  members  of  the  hunt  began  to  drift  by  twos 
and  threes  into  the  house  and  into  the  dining-room, 
where  the  Squire  was  very  hospitable  and  hearty  in 
pressing  refreshments  on  them — "  just  a  sandwich,  or 
something  to  keep  out  the  draught,"  he  kept  on  repeat- 
ing, full  of  pleasure  at  being  able  to  feed  dozens  of 
people  who  didn't  want  feeding,  and  quite  forgetting 
for  the  time  being  his  fears  as  to  the  effect  of  Virginia's 
presence. 

Virginia,  not  wishing  any  more  than  he  to  make 
herself  a  centre  of  the  occasion,  was  on  her  horse  al- 
ready, and  Dick  was  with  her,  and  a  handsome  pair 
they  made.  So  thought  old  Aunt  Laura  who  had  had 
herself  drawn  up  by  the  porch  in  her  Bath  chair,  as 
far  away  as  possible  from  "  the  horses'  hoofs. ^  She 
had  just  heard  that  a  marriage  was  about  to  take  place 
.  in  the  family  and  was  full  of  twittering  excitement  at 
the  news. 

"  My  nephew,"  she  said,  meaning  the  Rector,  "  told 
me  the  glad  news  only  this  morning,  my  dear.  I  am 
overjoyed  to  hear  it,  and  to  have  the  opportunity  of 
seeing  you  so  soon.  Please  do  not  bring  your  horse 
too  close,  if  you  do  not  mind.  I  am  somewhat  nerv- 
ous of  animals." 

"  I'll  bring  her  to  see  you  this  evening,  Aunt  Laura," 

said  Dick,  "  or,  if  she's  too  tired,  to-morrow  morning." 

"  I  shan't  be  too  tired,"  said  Virginia,  smiling  at  the 


A   LAWN    MEET  315 

old  lady.  "Dick  has  often  told  me  about  you,  Miss 
Clinton,  but  you  know  I  have  never  been  in  Kencotc 
before." 

The  Rector  had  given  Aunt  Laura  some  hint  of  the 
difficulty  there  had  been  over  the  engagement,  and  she 
said  soothingly,  "  I  know,  my  dear,  I  know.  But  I 
have  no  doubt  you  will  be  here  very  often  now,  and  I 
am  sure  nobody  will  be  more  pleased  to  see  you  than 
I  shall.  Dear  me,  what  with  Walter  and  Cicely  being 
married  two  years  ago  and  Dick  and  Humphrey  about 
to  be  married,  one  feels  one  belongs  to  a  family  in 
which  things  are  always  happening.  I  only  wish  that 
my  dear  sisters  had  been  alive  to  take  part  in  It  all. 
They  would  have  been  so  pleased.  But  the  last  of  them 
died  last  year,  as  no  doubt  Dick  has  told  you,  and  I 
am  no  longer  able  to  welcome  you  in  our  old  home. 
But  I  have  a  very  nice  little  house  In  the  village,  and 
if  you  will  come  and  drink  a  cup  of  tea  with  me  I  shall 
feel  great  gratification,  and  I  will  show  you  some  of 
my  treasures.  Tell  me,  Dick,  for  my  eyes  are  not  quite 
what  they  were.  Is  that  our  Cousin  Humphrey.^  " 

It  was.  In  fact.  Lord  Meadshire,  who  In  spite  of  a 
cold,  which  made  him  hoarser  than  ever,  had  driven 
over  with  his  daughter,  and  now,  looking  frail  and 
shrunken  in  his  heavy  fur  coat,  but  indomitably  deter- 
mined to  make  the  best  of  Hfe,  came  slowly  across  the 
gravel  to  greet  once  again  the  only  member  of  his  own 
generation  left  alive  amongst  all  his  relations. 

"  Well,  Laura,"  he  said,  "  this  is  like  old  times, 
eh.^  "  and  then  he  recognised  Virginia,  and  showed, 
although  he  did  not  say  so,  that  he  was  pleasantly  sur- 
prised to  see  her  there. 

"  You  have  heard,  I  suppose,  Humphrey,"  said  Aunt 
Laura,  with  obvious  pride  In  being  first  with  the  news, 
"  that  we  are  shortly  to  have  yet  another  wedding  In 
the  family.  I  have  not  seen  dear  Edward  yet;  I  have 
no  doubt  he  is  busy  indoors,  but  will  be  out  soon — and 


316  THE    ELDEST    SON 

I  shall  be  able  to  tell  him  how  glad  I  am  that  every- 
thing is  happily  settled." 

Lord  Meadshire's  sharp  old  eyes  twinkled  up  at  Vir- 
ginia, and  at  Dick,  who  said,  "  Don't  you  say  anything 
to  him  about  it  yet.  Aunt  Laura.  He's  not  quite  ready 
for  it " ;  and  Lord  Meadshire  added,  "  You've  been 
given  early  news,  Laura.  We  must  keep  it  to  ourselves 
until  it  is  published  abroad- — what  ?  My  dear  " — this 
to  Virginia — "  I  needn't  tell  you  how  glad  I  am,  and 
I  wish  you  every  possible  happiness  and  prosperity." 

He  staved  to  chat  for  a  few  minutes  w^ith  Aunt 
Laura  after  Virginia  and  Dick  had  moved  away.  "  It 
seems  but  yesterday,"  said  Aunt  Laura,  "  that  my  dear 
father,  who,  of  course,  kept  these  hounds,  entertained 
his  friends  here  in  just  such  a  way  as  this,  and  I  was  a 
little  girl  with  all  my  dear  sisters,  and  you  were  a  young 
man,  Humphrey,  very  gay  and  active,  riding  over  and 
talking  and  laughing  with  everybody.  And  it  is  just 
the  same  pretty  scene  now  as  it  was  then,  although  all 
the  people  who  took  part  in  it  are  dead,  except  you 
and  I." 

"  My  dear  Laura,"  wheezed  Lord  Meadshire,  "  I'm 
gay  and  active  now,  if  it  comes  to  that,  and  so  are 
you,  in  your  heart  of  hearts.  Come,  let  us  forget  that 
tiresome  number  of  years  that  lies  behind  us  and  go  and 
amuse  ourselves  with  the  rest.  If  I  stand  out  here  in 
the  cold,  I  shall  have  Emily  after  me — what  ?  " 

So  Aunt  Laura  was  helped  out  of  her  Bath  chair, 
and  they  went  into  the  house  together  slowly,  and  arm 
in  arm. 

The  Squire  hastened  to  meet  them  and  find  chairs 
for  them,  rather  uncomfortably  near  the  fire.  He  was 
loud  in  his  expressions  of  pleasure  at  seeing  his  kins- 
man there,  and  not  unmindful,  either,  of  the  comfort 
of  Aunt  Laura.  He  would  have  been  beyond  measure 
scandalised  at  the  charge  of  treating  her  with  increased 
consideration  since  he  had  learnt  of  her  wealth,  and 


A   LAWN   MEET  317 

indeed  he  had  shown  himself,  as  lias  been  said,  indiffer- 
ent to  the  possibility  of  her  being  wealthy,  but  there 
was  no  doubt  that  she  had  increased  in  importance  in 
his  eyes  during  the  last  week  or  two,  and  she  was 
accordingly  treated  more  as  a  personage  at  Kencote 
than  she  had  ever  been  before  in  her  life. 

Lord  Meadshire  accepted  a  glass  of  champagne.  It 
was  a  festive  occasion,  and  he  loved  festive  occasions 
of  all  sorts.  Everybody  in  the  room  came  up  and  talked 
to  him,  and  he  was  pleased  to  talk  to  everybody 
and  said  the  right  thing  to  each.  But  presently 
he  found  the  opportunity  of  a  word  apart  with  the 
Squire. 

"  So  you've  given  in,  Edward — eh,  what.^^  "  he  re- 
marked, with  a  mischievous  look  in  his  old  face,  and 
before  he  could  be  answered,  said,  more  seriously, 
"  Well,  you  were  right  to  stick  out  if  you  thought  it 
wouldn't  do — to  stick  out  as  long  as  you  could — but 
you  must  be  glad  all  the  bother's  over  now,  and  I  feel 
sure  you'll  come  to  think  it  isn't  so  bad  as  you  thought 
it  would  be.  Come  now,  weren't  all  the  rest  of  us 
right.''     Isn't  she  a  dear  creature.''  " 

"  I  haven't  given  in,"  said  the  Squire  shortly.  "  I 
don't  know  yet  what  I'm  going  to  do.  Of  course,  if 
Dick  has  made  up  his  mind,  I'm  not  going  to  keep  him 
at  arm's  length  all  the  rest  of  my  life,  however  much 
I  may  object  to  what  he's  doing.  That's  why  he's 
here,  and  why  she's  here." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Lord  Meadshire  wisely.  "  That's  the 
way  to  talk.  When  you  say  that  you're  nearly  at  the 
end  of  your  troubles." 

As  he  drove  off  a  little  later  with  Lady  Kemsale  he 
told  her  that  Edward  was  conquered,  although  he 
wouldn't  acknowledge  it.  "  He's  an  obstinate  fellow," 
said  Lord  Meadshire,  "  and  from  what  Nina  told  me  I 
should  say  that  he's  having  hard  work  to  hold  out 
against  the  dear  lady.     Well,  she's  only  got  to  keep  on 


318  THE   ELDEST   SON 

being  herself  and  he'll  be  at  her  feet  like  all  the  rest 
of  us." 

"  Dear  papa,"  said  Lady  Kemsale,  "  Lady  George 
has  bewitched  you." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Lord  Meadshire,  "  I  admit  it  fully. 
And  if  she  can  bewitch  me  she  can  bewitch  Edward. 
She's  half-way  on  the  road  already." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

WHAT    MISS    PHIPP    SAW 

Miss  Phipp  lay  quite  still  on  her  bed  for  half  an  hour 
with  her  eyes  closed,  while  the  pain  in  her  head  grew 
and   became   almost   insupportable,   as   she   had   known 
it  would,   and   then,  under   the   influence   of  the   drug, 
slowly   ebbed   away   until,   exhausted   as    she    was,   her 
state  was  one  of  such  relief  as  to  amount  to  bliss.     She 
could  not  afford  to  be  angry,  if  she  was  to  escape  the 
punishment  of  these  short-lived  but  agonising  bursts  of 
pain,  and  she  had  been  very  angry.     Now  she  told  her- 
self that  she  had  been   foolish  to  upset  herself  about 
nothing.      Her  friend's  words  had  borne  fruit  in  her 
robust  and  sensible  mind.     It  was  quite  true  that  she 
could  not   expect   to   exercise   the   same   undivided  au- 
thority in  a  private  house  as  in  a  school,  and  she  must 
find  compensations   elsewhere,  which   she  very   speedily 
did.     At  the  school  she  had  herself  been  under  authority, 
and  had  not  been  able  to  carry  out  unchecked  her  fa- 
vourite theories  of  education.     Here  she  would  be  free 
of  that  check,  for  she  did  not  suppose  that  Mrs.  Clin- 
ton would  desire  to  interfere  with  her  in  her  teaching. 
And  the   children   were   bright   enough.      Surely   there 
was   opportunity  here  for  doing  something  in  a  small 
way,  which   she  had  never  been   able   to  do   at   all  as 
yet !    They  were  nice  children  too,  with  some  character. 
They  had  not  given  in  to  her,  but  they  had  held  out 
without  being   in   the  least  rude,  and   it  was  good  of 
them,  after  what  had  happened,  to  want  her  to  go  with 
them  to  see  their  odious  animals. 

At  this   point  Mrs.   Clinton,  who  had  been   told   of 
her  bad  headache,  knocked  at  her  door  and  asked  if 

aid 


320  THE    ELDEST    SON 

she  wanted  anything.  She  thanked  her  and  said  "  No," 
and  Mrs.  Clinton  further  asked  if  she  would  like  to 
drive  with  her,  for,  if  she  was  well  enough,  it  might 
do  her  good. 

She  got  off  her  bed  and  opened  the  door,  and  when 
Mrs.  Clinton  saw  the  dark  circles  under  her  eves  she 
exclaimed  in  sympathy,  and  insisted  upon  fetching  eau- 
de-Cologne,  and  performing  various  little  services  for 
her,  which,  although  she  now  scarcely  needed  them, 
made  her  feel  that  she  was  cared  for.  She  was  in- 
structed to  lie  still  for  a  while  longer,  and  something 
should  presently  be  sent  up  to  her.  Then  she  was  to 
lunch  quietly  by  herself,  and  in  the  afternoon,  if  she 
was  well  enough,  to  take  a  short  walk  in  the  park. 
"  It  is  so  fine,"  said  Mrs.  Clinton,  "  that  I  expect  we 
shall  be  out  all  day,  and  you  will  have  the  whole  house 
to  yourself,  and  can  be  as  quiet  as  you  like.  And  mind 
you  ask  Garnett — my  maid,  you  know — for  anything 
you  want.     I  will  tell  her  to  keep  an  eye  on  you." 

Then  she  went  away,  and  left  Miss  Phipp  in  a  more 
comfortable  frame  of  mind  and  body  than  before.  She 
was  not  used  to  being  looked  after  in  illness,  for  she 
had  lived  a  lonely  life,  and  her  near  relations  were  long 
since  dead.  She  felt  extraordinarily  grateful  to  this 
kind,  thoughtful,  sensible  woman,  who  treated  her  as  if 
she  were  a  human  being  and  not  like  a  mere  teaching 
machine,  and  the  thought  began  to  dawn  upon  her, 
that  perhaps  she  might  come  to  look  upon  Kencote  as 
a  home,  such  as  she  had  never  hitherto  had,  and  in  the 
days  of  her  health  had  scarcely  missed. 

Her  bedroom  was  in  the  front  of  the  house,  and  she 
had  heard,  without  much  heeding  them,  the  wheels  and 
the  beat  of  horse-hoofs  and  the  voices  outside.  Now 
she  began  to  be  a  little  curious  as  to  what  was  going 
on,  and  rose  and  drew  up  her  blind  and  looked  out. 

The  scene  was  quite  new  to  her,  and  in  spite  of  her- 
self she  exclaimed  at  it.     Immediately  beyond  the  wide 


WHAT    MISS    PHIPP    SAW  321 

gravel  sweep  in  front  of  the  house  was  the  grass  of  the 
park,  where  the  whole  brave  show  of  the  South  Mead- 
shire  Hunt  was  collected.  It  is  doubtful  if  she  had 
ever  seen  a  pack  of  hounds  in  her  Hfe,  and  she  watched 
them  as  if  fascinated.  Presently,  at  some  signal  which 
she  had  not  discerned,  the  huntsman  and  tlie  whips 
turned  and  trotted  off  with  them,  and  behind  them 
streamed  all  the  horsemen  and  horsewomen,  the  car- 
riages and  carts,  and  the  people  on  foot,  until  the 
whole  scene  which  had  been  so  full  of  life  and  colour 
was  entirely  empty  of  all  human  occupation,  and  there 
was  only  the  damp  grass  of  the  park  and  the  big  bare 
trees  under  the  pearly  grey  of  the  winter  sky.  She 
saw  the  Squire  ride  off  on  his  powerful  horse,  and  ad- 
mired his  sturdy  erect  carriage,  and  she  saw  Dick  and 
Virginia,  side  by  side,  Humphrey,  the  pink  of  sartorial 
hunting  perfection,  Mrs.  Clinton  in  her  carriage,  with 
Miss  Dexter  by  her  side  and  the  twins  opposite  to  her, 
and  for  a  moment  wished  she  had  accepted  her  invita- 
tion to  make  one  of  the  party,  although  she  did  not 
in  the  least  understand  where  they  were  going  to,  or 
what  they  were  going  to  do  when  they  got  there.  All 
this  concourse  of  apparently  well-to-do  and  completely 
leisured  people  going  seriously  about  a  business  so  re- 
mote from  any  of  the  interests  in  life  that  she  had 
known  struck  her  as  entirely  strange  and  inexplicable. 
She  might  have  been  in  the  midst  of  some  odd  rites 
in  an  unexplored  land.  The  very  look  of  the  country 
in  its  winter  dress  was  strange  to  her,  for  she  was  a 
lifelong  Londoner,  and  the  country  to  her  only  meant 
a  place  where  one  spent  summer  holidays.  Decidedly 
it  would  be  interesting — more  interesting  than  she  had 
thought — to  gain  some  insight  into  a  life  lived  appar- 
ently by  a  very  large  number  of  people  in  England, 
if  this  one  little  corner  could  produce  so  many  expo- 
nents of  it,  but  curiously  unlike  any  life  that  she  had 
lived  herself  or  seen  other  people  living. 


322  THE    ELDEST    SON 

She  went  through  the  course  prescribed  for  her  by 
Mrs.  Clinton,  and  enjoyed  the  quiet  of  the  big  house 
and  the  warm  airy  seclusion  of  the  schoolroom,  where 
she  read  a  book  and  wrote  a  little,  and  after  lunch  went 
to  sleep  on  the  sofa  before  the  fire.  Then  at  about 
half-past  three,  although  she  hated  all  forms  of  exercise 
and  would  have  much  preferred  to  stay  indoors,  she 
went  out  for  a  little  walk. 

She  went  down  the  drive  and  through  the  village, 
and  was  struck  by  the  absence  of  humanity.  If  she 
had  to  take  a  walk  on  a  winter  afternoon  she  would 
have  wished  to  take  it  on  pavements  and  to  feel  herself 
one  of  a  crowd.  Here  everybody  she  did  meet  stared 
at  her,  wondering,  obviously,  who  she  was,  which  rather 
annoyed  her.  But  when  she  got  out  on  to  the  country 
road  and  met  nobody  at  all,  she  liked  it  still  less,  and 
walked  on  from  a  sheer  sense  of  duty.  She  had  no  eyes 
for  the  mild  beauty  of  the  winter  evening,  nor  ears 
for  the  breathing  of  the  sleeping  earth.  She  plodded 
doggedly  on,  hating  the  mud,  and  only  longing  to  get 
back  again  to  her  book  b}^  the  fireside.  When  she  met 
a  slow  farm  cart  jogging  homewards,  she  made  no  reply 
to  the  touch  of  the  hat  accorded  her  by  the  carter,  but 
showed  unfeigned  terror  at  the  friendly  inquisitiveness 
of  his  dog.  In  her  soft  felt  hat,  black  skirt,  and 
braided  jacket,  she  was  as  much  out  of  place  in  the 
wide  brooding  landscape  as  if  she  had  been  in  the 
desert  of  Sahara,  and  disliked  the  one  as  much  as  she 
would  have  disliked  the  other. 

As  she  was  going  up  the  drive  on  her  return,  she 
felt  a  little  glow  at  the  sight  of  the  lighted  windows 
of  the  house.  If  she  had  thought  of  it  she  would  have 
known  that  it  was  her  first  experience  of  the  pleasures 
of  the  country  in  winter,  for  a  house  in  a  city  does  not 
arouse  exactly  that  feeling  of  expectant  warmth,  how- 
ever much  one  may  desire  to  get  inside  it.  But,  even  if 
she  had  been  prepared  to  examine  the  causes  of  the 


WHAT    MISS    PHIPP    SAW  323 

impulse,  she  would  not  have  been  able  to,  for  It  was 
immediately  ejected  from  her  mind  by  one  of  terror. 
It  was  caused  by  the  sudden  sharp  trot  of  a  horse  on 
the  gravel  immediately  behind  her.  She  turned  round, 
terribly  startled  and  prepared  for  instant  annihilation. 
But  the  horse  had  only  crossed  the  drive,  and  was  now 
cantering  across  the  turf  away  from  her.  It  was  rider- 
less, the  stirrups  swinging  against  its  flanks,  the  reins 
broken  and  trailing. 

At  first  she  did  not,  so  entirely  ignorant  was  she  of 
such  things,  attach  any  meaning  at  all  to  the  empty 
saddle.     For  all  she  knew,  horses  without  riders  might 
roam  the  wilds  of  the  country,  adding  greatly  to  its 
dangers,  as  a  matter  of  recognised  habit.     But  when 
she  had  recovered  from  her  shock,  some  connection  be- 
tween what  she  had  just  seen  and  something  she  had 
read  or  heard  of  or  seen  in  a  picture  formed  Itself  in 
her  mind,  and   It   occurred  to  her  that  probably   the 
horse  had  got  rid  of  its  rider,  and  there  might   con- 
ceivably have  been  an  unpleasant  accident.     Then  she 
made  a  further  rapid  and  brilliant  Induction,  and  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  a  riderless  horse  which  made  his 
way  home  to  his  stable  at  Kencote  had  probably  set  out 
from  Kencote  with  some  one  on  his  back,  and,  as  his 
saddle  had  no  pommels,  that  either  the  Squire  or  Dick 
or   Humphrey    had   been   thrown.      She   knew    nothing 
about   grooms   and   second   horses,   and   narrowed   her 
convictions  still  further  by  the  recollection  of  Dick's 
having  ridden  a  grey.     The  riderless  horse  was  brown 
— it  was  really  a  bright  bay,  but  it  was  brown  to  her. 
Therefore  either  the  Squire  or   Humphrey  must  have 
been  thrown   from  his  horse  in  the  hunting-field,  and 
from  scraps  of  recollection  of  old  novels  in  which  hunt- 
ing scenes  had  occurred  the  outcome  of  such  accidents 
presented  Itself  to  her  alarmed  mind  as  probably  fatal. 

She  stood  at  the  door  after  having  rung  the  bell — 
it  did  not  occur  to  her  to  open  it  and  walk  in — a  prey 


SU  THE    ELDEST   SON 

to  the  liveliest  fears,  and  when  she  had  waited  for 
some  time  and  rung  again  and  then  waited  some  time 
more,  she  was  not  at  all  relieved  by  the  face  of  the 
servant  who  opened  it  to  her.  "  The  horse !  "  she  said 
quickly.     "  Whose  horse  ?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  it's  Mr.  Clinton's,  miss,"  said  the  man. 
"  Mrs.  Clinton  and  the  young  ladies  are  in  the  morning- 
room  and  nobody's  told  'em  yet.  We  don't  know  what 
to  do." 

It  was  not  the  grave  and  decorous  butler  who  had 
answered  the  bell,  but  the  same  young  footman  who 
had  omitted  to  see  to  the  smoking-room  fire  a  week  or 
so  before,  or  Miss  Phipp  would  not  have  had  the  un- 
pleasant duty  thrust  upon  her  of  breaking  the  news 
to  Mrs.  Clinton.  But  she  accepted  it  at  once,  and  went 
straight  into  the  morning-room,  where  Mrs.  Clinton, 
still  in  her  furs,  and  Miss  Dexter  and  the  twins  were 
drinking  tea. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Phipp,  I  do  hope  you  are  better,"  said 
Mrs.  Clinton.  "  Sit  down  and  have  some  tea  and  tell 
me  how  you  have  been  getting  on." 

"  May  I  speak  to  you  for  a  moment  ?  "  said  Miss 
Phipp,  standing  at  the  door,  and  Mrs.  Clinton  rose 
from  her  seat  and  came  out  into  the  hall  with  her, 
where  some  of  the  servants  were  befflnnino;  to  collect. 
Their  scared  faces  did  not  reassure  her,  and  she  put 
her  hand  to  her  heart  as  she  turned  to  Miss  Phipp  for 
an  explanation. 

"  I  saw  Mr.  Clinton's  horse  galloping  across  the 
park,"  said  Miss  Phipp.  "  I  am  afraid  he  must  have 
had  an  accident." 

Mrs.  Clinton  showed  no  further  signs  of  weakness, 
but  asked  at  once  for  Porter,  the  butler;  and  when  it 
was  explained  to  her  that  he  was  in  his  cottage  in  the 
park,  but  had  been  sent  for,  she  asked  for  Probyn,  the 
head  coachman,  who  came  pushing  through  the  group 
by  the  service  door  as  she  spoke.     He  had  already  done 


WHAT   MISS    PHIPP    SAW  325 

what  she  would  have  ordered,  sent  out  grooms  on  liorse- 
back,  and  got  a  carriage  ready  to  go  to  any  point  on 
the  receipt  of  further  news. 

"  Then  there  is  nothing  more  to  do,"  said  Mrs.  Clin- 
ton after  a  moment's  consideration,  "  and  we  must 
wait.     Send  Garnett  to  me  upstairs." 

She  asked  a  few  more  questions  and  then  made  a 
step  towards  the  staircase,  but  tunied  again  towards 
the  morning-room.  "  I  must  tell  the  children,"  she 
said.     *'  Please  come  in  and  have  some  tea." 

Miss  Phipp  followed  her,  in  admiration  of  her  calm 
self-control.  Mrs.  Clinton  said,  "  I  am  afraid  your 
father  has  had  a  fall,  as  Bay  Laurel  has  come  back  to 
the  stable  without  him.  But  he  has  fallen  before  and 
not  hurt  himself,  so  there  is  no  need  to  be  frightened. 
I  am  just  going  upstairs  for  a  minute  and  then  I  will 
come  down  again." 

The  twins  looked  at  one  another  and  at  their  two 
elders  with  frightened  eyes.  "  Bay  Laurel  was  father's 
second  horse,"  said  Joan.  "  He  rode  Kenilworth  this 
morning  and  we  passed  him  coming  home,  so  it  can't 
have  been  the  groom." 

Nancy  got  up  from  her  chair.  "  Oh,  I  wish  mother 
would  come  down,"  she  said. 

"  Sit  down,  dear,"  said  Miss  Dexter.  "  Your  mother 
told  you  not  to  be  frightened." 

But  Nancy  went  to  the  window,  and  Joan  followed 
her.  They  drew  aside  the  curtains  and  looked  out  on 
the  park,  lying  still  and  empty  in  the  now  fading  light. 
"Isn't  that  something  near  the  gate.?"  asked  Joan. 
"  No,  it  is  only  a  tree.  Bay  Laurel  is  as  quiet  as  any 
horse  in  the  stable,  Nancy.  He  must  have  fallen  at  a 
fence." 

"  I  should  have  thought  he  would  have  stood  until 
father  got  up,"  said  Nancy. 

"  It  looks  as  if  he  had  been  too  much  hurt  to  get 
up,"  said  Joan,  and  then  began  to  cry. 


326  THE    ELDEST    SON 

Miss  Dexter  came  over  to  them  and  drew  the  cur- 
tains again  firmly.  "  Don't  make  a  fuss,"  she  said,  "  or 
you  will  make  ,  your  mother  anxious.  Pull  yourselves 
together  and  come  and  sit  down.  Joan,  give  Miss  Phipp 
some  tea." 

Joan  did  as  she  was  told,  still  crying  softly.  Nancy 
said,  "  Father  has  never  had  a  bad  fall,  and  he  has 
been  hunting  all  his  life.  He  knows  how  to  take  a  toss. 
Don't  be  a  fool,  Joan.     I  expect  it  will  be  all  right." 

"  Don't  talk  like  that,"  said  Miss  Phipp  sharply,  her 
nerves  on  edge,  "  and,  Joan,  stop  crying  at  once." 

Upon  which  Joan  cried  the  more.  "  I'm  sure  he's 
badly  hurt,"  she  said,  "  and  he's  lying  out  in  the  c-cold, 
or  they'll  b-bring  him  home  on  a  shutter." 

Mrs.  Clinton  came  in,  looking  much  the  same  as 
usual,  except  that  she  was  paler.  She  sat  down  at  the 
tea-table  and  said,  "  Don't  cry,  Joan  dear.  Probyn 
says  that  there  are  no  signs  of  Bay  Laurel's  having 
come  down,  so  it  was  probably  not  a  bad  fall,  and  I 
expect  father  will  be  home  soon." 

But  Joan  knew  too  much  to  be  comforted  in  this 
way,  and  her  imagination  was  working.  She  threw  her- 
self on  her  mother  and  sobbed,  "  If  f-father  had  fallen 
and  B-bay  Laurel  hadn't,  he'd  have  kept  hold  of  the 
reins,  unless  he  was  too  b-badly  hurt." 

Mrs.  Clinton  said  nothing,  but  drew  her  to  her,  and 
they  sat,  for  the  most  part  in  silence,  and  waited,  for 
a  long  time. 

Presently  Joan,  who  had  been  sitting  w^ith  her  head 
on  Mrs.  Clinton's  shoulder,  started  up  and  said, 
"  There !  there !  I  heard  wheels."  Then  she  began 
to  sob  uncontrollably. 

Mrs.  Clinton  got  up.  The  sound  of  wheels  was  now 
plain  outside.  Joan  clung  to  her,  and  cried,  "  Oh, 
don't  go,  mother.  You  don't  know  what  you  may  see. 
Oh,  please  don't  go." 

Her  cries  frightened  the  rest.     They  heard  the  clang 


WHAT   MISS    PHIPP    SAW         3S7 

of  the  heavy  bell  In  the  back  regions  and  voices  and 
steps  in  the  hall  outside.  None  of  them  knew  what 
would  be  brought  into  it.  Even  M'-s.  Clinton  was 
paralysed  in  her  movements  for  a  moment,  and  did  not 
know  what  to  do  with  the  terrified  child  clinging  to  her. 
The  door  opened  and  Joan  shrieked.  Then  the 
Squire  walked  into  the  room  with  his  hat  on  and  his 
arm  bound  up  in  a  black  sling  over  his  red  coat. 
"Hulloa!  What's  this?"  he  exclaimed  in  a  voice  not 
quite  so  strong  as  ordinary.  "  Nothing  to  make  a  fuss 
about.  I  took  a  nasty  toss,  and  I've  broken  my  collar- 
bone." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 


THE    EUN    OF    THE    SEASON 


The  breaking  of  a  collar-bone  is  not  a  very  serious 
matter.  Men  have  been  known  to  suffer  the  mishap 
and  continue  for  a  time  the  activity  that  brought  it 
about  without  being  any  the  worse.  But  to  a  man  of 
the  Squire's  age  and  weight  the  shock  he  had  sustained 
was  not  altogether  a  light  one,  and  when  he  had  reas- 
sured his  anxious  family  as  to  his  comparatively  per- 
fect safety,  he  retired  to  his  bed  and  kept  to  it  for  a 
few  days.  It  was  the  first  time  in  his  life  that  such  a 
thing  had  happened  to  him,  and  he  did  not  take  kindly 
to  the  confinement.  But  it  was  eased  of  some  of  its 
rigour,  after  the  first  day,  during  which  he  suffered 
from  a  slight  fever,  by  his  making  his  big  bedroom  an 
audience  chamber,  in  the  manner  of  a  bygone  age,  and 
most  people  in  the  house,  as  well  as  a  good  many  from 
outside  it,  were  bidden  to  sit  with  him  and  entertain 
him  in  turn. 

Amongst  the  most  welcome  of  his  visitors  was  Vir- 
ginia, for  it  was  she  who  had,  by  good  fortune,  re- 
leased him  from  what  might  have  been  a  far  worse 
predicament  than  was  indicated  by  the  slight  damage 
he  had  sustained,  and  although  she  would  have  done 
what  she  had  for  any  other  member  of  the  hunt,  still, 
she  had  done  it,  and  his  gratitude  to  her  had  the  effect 
of  removing  from  his  mind  the  last  vestiges  of  the 
prejudice  he  had  nursed  against  her,  which  in  its  latest 
stages  had  been  far  weaker  than  he  knew.  What  had 
happened  was  as  follows. 

A  stout  fox  had  been  turned  out  of  Hartover  Copse 
within  a  few  minutes  of  the  hounds  being  put  into  it, 

823 


THE   RUN    OF   THE    SEASON       329 

and  had  made  off  straight  across  country  with  a  busi- 
ness-hke  determination  that  seemed  to  show  that  he 
knew  exactly  where  safety  lay  and  was  going  to  lose 
no  time  in  making  for  it. 

The  Squire,  old  in  his  knowledge  of  the  ways  of  a 
fox  and  the  lie  of  the  South  Meadshire  country,  had 
posted  himself  hard  by  the  point  where  the  fox  broke 
covert,  and  was  one  of  the  first  away.  For  fifteen 
minutes  it  was  straight  hard  going,  leaving  little  chance 
for  those  who  had  not  secured  a  good  start  to  make  up 
their  distance,  and  none  at  all  for  those  who  were  fol- 
lowing on  wheels  and  hoped  by  taking  short  cuts  to 
come  up  with  the  hounds  again  at  some  point  or  other. 
When  the  score  or  so  who  were  in  front  obtained  a  min- 
ute of  breathing  space,  while  the  hounds,  w^hich  had 
been  running  so  straight  that  they  overran  the  line 
where  the  fox  had  turned  hard  by  Gorsey  Common,  five 
miles  from  Kencote,  were  casting  about  to  recover  the 
scent,  there  was  little  of  the  main  field  to  be  seen.  The 
Squire,  with  joy  and  exhilaration  in  his  breast,  reined 
up  and  looked  behind  him.  They  had  come  down  a 
long  slope  and  up  another,  and  in  all  the  mile-wide  val- 
ley across  which  they  had  ridden  there  were  not  more 
than  a  dozen  others  to  be  seen,  and  some  of  them  very 
far  away.  But  amongst  them  were  Virginia  and  Dick, 
who  were  even  now  breasting  the  grassy,  gorsey  slope, 
at  the  top  of  which  he  sat  on  his  horse.  Taken  una- 
wares, he  could  not  but  admire  Virginia's  slim,  graceful 
figure,  swaying  so  lightly  to  every  move  of  the  mare 
under  her,  and  he  had  ready  some  words  to  call  out 
to  her  when  she  should  reach  him. 

But  before  that  happened  the  deep  note  of  Corsican, 
the  oldest  and  wisest  hound  in  the  South  Meadshire 
pack,  and  the  thrilling  chorus  which  immediately  an- 
swered it,  warned  him  that  the  hounds  had  found  what 
they  had  been  looking  for,  and  immediately  he  was  off 
again,  with  all  thought  of  those  behind  him  forgotten. 


330  THE    ELDEST    SON 

and  nothing  in  his  mind  but  that  baying  dappled 
stream  that  was  leading  him,  now  as  fast  as  before, 
straight  across  a  country  as  well  grassed  as  any  in  the 
Shires. 

Right  through  the  middle  of  it  too ;  and  when  he  had 
galloped  across  half  a  dozen  wide  meadows,  and  Kenil- 
worth  had  landed  him,  without  the  least  little  vestige 
of  hesitation  or  clumsiness,  on  the  other  side  of  a  stiffish 
bullfinch,  his  heart  went  up  in  a  paean  of  gratitude  to 
whatever  power  directs  these  matters,  at  the  thought 
that  he  had  taken  chances  and  had  his  second  horse 
sent  on  to  Beeston  Holt,  which  lay  midway  between 
Kencote  and  Trensham  Woods,  to  which  he  now  began 
greatly  to  hope  that  this  brave  fox  was  leading  them. 

Only  once  before,  during  all  the  long  years  in  which 
he  had  hunted  over  this  country,  had  such  a  thing 
happened.  The  line  between  Kencote  and  Trensham,  a 
distance  of  twenty-five  miles  at  least,  pierced  lengthwise 
this  stretch  of  low-lying  grazing  country,  which,  inter- 
sected by  a  brook  or  two,  by  stout  fences  of  post  and 
rail,  and  thick  hedges  which  had  no  need  of  barbed 
wire  to  aid  their  defence,  was  like  the  fairway  of  a  golf- 
course,  perfect  while  you  were  on  it,  but  beset  with 
hazards  on  either  side.  Only  the  most  determined  of 
foxes  would  keep  to  it  for  the  whole  distance.  There 
was  Pailthorpe  Spinney  to  the  left,  before  you  got  to 
the  first  brook,  and  no  stopping  of  earths  there  could 
prevent  Master  Reynard  from  poking  his  nose  amongst 
them  to  try,  if  he  were  so  minded.  And  although  he 
could  always  be  bustled  out  again,  it  was  unlikely  that, 
having  once  turaed  aside,  he  would  take  to  the  grass 
again.  He  might  make  for  Greenash  Wood  across 
heavy  ploughs,  or  for  Spilling,  where  thick  orchards 
made  it  impossible  to  follow  the  hounds,  and  you  had 
to  take  one  or  two  wide  circuits. 

But  this  fox  had  already  scorned  the  delusive  shelter 
of  Pailthorpe  Spinney,  and  if  he  was  not  bending  all 


THE    RUN    OF    THE    SEASON       331 

his  attention  on  the  Trcnsham  Woods,  where  he  prob- 
ably would  find  safety,  if  he  got  there  in  time,  he  was 
at  least  bound  to  lead  them  over  grass  for  another  four 
miles,  to  where,  at  Beeston  Holt,  he  might  possibly  de- 
cide to  turn  aside  and  cross  the  river  and  the  railway 
and  try  for  the  first  of  a  long  chain  of  coverts  which 
circled  round  towards  Blaythorn.  In  that  case  the  best 
of  the  day  would  be  over,  but  if  they  could  keep  him 
on  the  move  there  would  be  something  to  look  forward 
to  before  they  ran  into  him,  and  the  run  would  still 
be  a  memorable  one.  Yes,  he  was  most  likely  to  do 
that.  It  was  too  much  to  hope  for  that  that  glorious 
day  of  five-and-thirty  years  before  would  be  repeated, 
when  the  high-stomached  ancestor  of  countless  good 
Meadshire  foxes  had  travelled  straight  as  an  arrow, 
scorning  all  lesser  chances  of  safety,  for  the  high  deep 
woods  of  Trensham,  and  the  Squire,  not  long  since 
married,  and  in  the  very  flower  of  his  tireless  youthful 
vigour,  mounted  on  his  great  horse  Merrydew,  with  no 
change,  had  kept  with  the  hounds  all  the  way  and 
shaken  off  master,  huntsman,  whips,  and  all,  when  they 
ran  into  him  at  last  within  two  fields  of  safety. 

And  yet ! — there  was  that  quick  determined  start, 
the  sudden  turn  on  Gorsey  Common,  which  meant  con- 
tempt of  the  line  pointing  to  the  coverts  at  Mountfield, 
the  passing  of  Pailthorpe  Spinney,  and  now  this  direct, 
rattling  run  across  brook  and  fence  and  hedge  down 
the  very  middle  of  the  grasslands.  It  might  happen — 
the  run  of  a  lifetime  repeated.  His  only  fear  now  was 
that  his  second  horse  would  not  be  up  at  Beeston  Holt 
in  time,  for  there  w^asn't  a  horse  in  the  country  or  in  the 
wide  world  which  could  carry  his  weight  through  to 
Trensham  at  the  pace  hounds  were  running. 

Beeston  Holt  lay  on  the  bank  of  the  river  with  the 
railway  beyond  it.  It  was  a  straggling  village,  facing 
a  stretch  of  common  land,  and  there  was  a  wide  space 
in  front  of  its  cliief  iun,  where  the  Squire  expected  to 


33S  THE    ELDEST    SON 

see  his  second  horse  waiting  for  him,  if  his  groom  had 
reached  the  point.  The  hounds  swept  across  the  com- 
mon no  farther  than  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  away, 
going  as  strong  as  ever,  and  even  the  time  lost  in  riding 
that  distance  away  from  their  line  and  changing  horses 
might  lose  him  the  good  place  he  had  hitherto  kept. 

But  there  was  no  horse  waiting  for  him,  and  with 
angry  despair  settling  down  on  him  he  sat  and  saw 
the  hounds  disappear  out  of  sight  and  the  few  who 
still  kept  with  or  near  them  following  at  ever-increasing 
intervals.  Dick  was  one  of  them.  He  was  riding  Ro- 
land, the  best  horse,  not  a  weight  carrier,  in  the  Ken- 
cote  stables,  who  was  quite  capable  of  carrying  him  to 
the  end  of  the  great  run  that  now  seemed  certain;  for 
the  fox  had  not  turned  aside  towards  the  nearer  coverts 
and  must  have  had  Trensham  in  his  cunning  mind  since 
he  had  first  set  out.  Dick  waved  a  hand  to  him  as  he 
galloped  past.  There  was  no  sign  of  Virginia ;  on  such 
an  occasion  as  this  women,  even  the  best  beloved,  must 
look  after  themselves. 

The  Squire  fussed  and  fumed,  and  Kenilworth,  his 
blood  thoroughly  up,  could  hardly  be  held,  so  anxious 
was  he  to  go  on  with  what  he  had  begun.  In  another 
second  he  would  have  let  him  have  his  way,  but  just 
as  he  was  about  to  do  so  he  saw  his  man  coming  up  the 
road,  controlling  as  best  he  could  the  antics  of  his 
horse,  which  had  got  wind  somehow  of  the  passing  of 
the  hounds,  in  spite  of  the  silence  in  which  they  were 
now  running.  The  Squire  beckoned  him  to  hurry  his 
pace  and  as  he  came  up  jumped  off  Kenilworth  and 
on  to  Bay  Laurel  with  all  the  activity  he  might  have 
shown  on  that  memorable  run  of  five-and-thirty  years 
before,  and  was  off  on  to  the  turf  in  a  twinkling.  But 
not  before  he  had  seen,  out  of  the  comer  of  his  eye, 
Virginia,  sailing  gaily  along  on  her  black  mare,  just 
behind  him. 

In  a  moment  he  had  forgotten  her;  Bay  Laurel  was 


THE   RUN    OF    THE    SEASON       333 

as  fresh  as  if  he  had  just  left  his  stable,  for  the  groom 
had  brought  him  along  steadily  according  to  instruc- 
tions, the  fulfilment  of  which,  however,  had  been  like  to 
have  cost  him  his  place.  The  Squire  felt  the  spring 
and  lift  of  the  powerful  frame  under  him,  as,  keeping 
him  well  in  hand,  and  riding  as  if  he  had  been  five  stone 
lighter  and  had  not  forsaken  the  hunting  saddle  for 
weeks  past,  he  pounded  the  short,  springy  turf  and 
sent  it  flying  now  and  again  far  behind  him.  There 
was  a  brook  to  take  just  beyond  the  village,  wide  enough 
to  have  given  him  at  his  age  occasion  for  thought  if 
it  had  come  earlier  in  the  day,  and  set  him  casting  about 
in  his  mind  for  the  whereabouts  of  the  nearest  bridge. 
But  he  went  straight  at  it,  and  Bay  Laurel  took  it  like 
a  skimming  swallow.  Then  came  a  five-barred  gate — 
the  only  way  from  one  field  into  another,  unless  valu- 
able time  was  to  be  wasted — and  the  Squire  had  not 
jumped  a  five-barred  gate  since  he  had  ridden  thirteen 
stone.  But  he  jumped  it  now,  and  felt  a  fierce  joy,  as 
he  galloped  across  the  meadow  grass,  at  the  surging 
up  in  him  of  his  vanished  youth,  and  all  the  fierce  de- 
lights that  such  days  as  this  had  brought  him  in  years 
gone  by.  He  was  as  good  as  ever.  His  luck  was  in. 
There  must  be  some  check  before  long,  and  a  check, 
however  short,  would  bring  him  within  sight  of  them. 

A  sudden  memory  born  of  his  long  past  experience 
came  to  him.  In  a  field  or  two  he  would  come  to  a 
footpath  which  led  across  stiles  through  what  had  then 
been  a  peninsula  of  plough-land  sticking  out  into  the 
pastures.  The  old  mid-Victorian  fox  had  stuck  to  the 
grass  and  gone  round  the  heavy  land  in  a  wide  circle. 
If  the  Edwardian  fox  should  take  the  same  line,  that 
footpath  would  cut  off  half  a  mile,  and  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  follow  it. 

Ah !  There  it  was — the  path  across  the  crest  of  the 
field,  the  stile,  and,  beyond  the  hedge  to  the  left,  the 
dark  plough  ribbons  and  the  footway  running  down 


354  THE    ELDEST    SON 

them.  He  jumped  the  stile  and  cantered  carefully 
down  the  narrow  path,  well  content  to  go  slow  for  the 
advantage  to  be  gained.  Bay  Laurel  hopped  over  an- 
other stile  and  they  were  on  grass  again  and  galloping 
freely,  still  keeping  to  the  line  of  the  scarcely  discern- 
ible field  path.  They  topped  a  short  rise,  and  the 
Squire  just  caught  sight  of  the  hounds  topping  an- 
other away  to  the  right.  His  heart  gave  another  bound 
of  gratitude.  He  would  be  up  w^ith  them  yet.  There 
was  the  next  stile  and  he  knew  the  line  to  take.  He 
was  already  in  front  of  some  of  those  who  had  passed 
him  waiting  before  the  inn. 

But  his  time  had  come.  The  last  stile  was  flanked  by 
a  high  thick  fence,  on  the  other  side  of  which,  although 
he  could  not  see  it,  was  a  ditch  wider  and  deeper  than 
ordinary.  There  w^as  nothing  formidable  about  the 
stile  itself;  it  was  no  higher  than  the  two  Bay  Laurel 
had  just  hopped  over  in  his  stride,  but  looked  rather 
more  dilapidated.  Just  as  the  horse  was  rising  to  it, 
he  saw  that  the  ditch  on  the  other  side  ran  right  along 
and  was  crossed  by  a  plank,  and  although  the  horse 
saw  it  too  and  was  preparing  for  it,  he  instinctively 
checked  him,  and  then  saw  that  it  was  too  late.  Bay 
Laurel  blundered  into  the  rotten  woodwork,  and  the 
Squire  pitched  forAvard  over  his  shoulder,  and  the  next 
moment  had  rolled  into  the  ditch  with  the  stile,  but 
fortunately  not  the  horse,  on  top  of  him. 

The  ditch  was  newly  dug  and  nearly  dry,  or  he  might 
have  been  drowned,  for  he  was  wedged  closely  in  and 
could  hardly  stir.  Bay  Laurel  had  jammed  the  timbers 
down  upon  him,  and  without  waiting  to  consider  the 
damage  he  had  done  was  now  off  in  the  wake  of  the 
hounds,  which  he  also  had  seen  topping  the  distant  rise. 
The  Squire  was  left  alone,  powerless  to  extricate  him- 
self, in  the  remote  stillness  of  the  fields. 

He  had  heard  a  crack,  different  somehow  from  the 
crack  of  the  timbers,  as  he  fell,  but  did  not  at  first 


THE    RUN    OF    THE    SEASON       335 

connect  it  with  broken  bones  of  his  own.  It  was  not 
until  he  reahsed  that  his  left  arm  and  shoulder  were 
lying  under  a  beam  in  a  very  strange  and  uncom- 
fortable position,  and  tried  to  move  tliem,  that  he  knew 
what  had  happened  to  him  and  began  to  feel  any  pain. 
Then  he  felt,  suddenly,  a  good  deal,  not  only  in  his 
shoulder,  but  in  his  side,  upon  which  a  comer  of  the 
stile  was  pressing,  and  thought  he  had  broken  every 
bone  in  his  body. 

The  pain  and  the  shock  and  the  loneliness  frightened 
him.  Unless  help  came  he  was  likely  to  die  at  the  bot- 
tom of  this  ditch,  and  he  had  a  moment  of  blind  terror 
before  he  lifted  up  his  voice  and  called  for  help  most 
lustily. 

There  was  an  instant  answer.  Virginia,  who  had  fol- 
lowed his  lead  across  the  plough,  at  some  little  distance, 
because  she  knew  he  would  not  like  her  riding  in  his 
pocket,  came  through  the  gap,  and  drew  rein  by  his 
side.  She  was  off  her  horse  in  a  moment  and  trying  her 
hardest  to  lift  the  heavy  timbers  off  him.  But  she  only 
succeeded  in  shifting  their  weight  from  one  part  of 
his  body  to  another,  and  under  his  agonised  expostula- 
tions soon  desisted.  She  stood  up,  white  and  terror- 
stricken,  the  reins  of  her  mare  over  her  arm,  and  cried, 
"  Oh,  I  must  get  the  weight  off  you,  and  then  I  w^ill  go 
for  help." 

Then  she  tried  again,  and  did  succeed  in  easing  him 
a  trifle,  whereupon  he  fainted,  but  soon  came  to  again, 
to  find  her  with  her  hat  full  of  water  sprinkhng  his 
forehead.  "  I'm  all  right  now  for  a  bit,"  he  said.  "  Go 
and  get  somebody.     Can  you  mount.?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  don't  look,"  she  said. 

She  led  her  horse  a  httle  way  out  into  the  field,  threw 
herself  across  the  saddle,  and  scrambled  up  somehow. 
Then  she  set  off  at  a  gallop  towards  the  chimneys  of  a 
farm  peeping  above  a  grove  of  trees  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  awaj. 


336  THE    ELDEST   SON 

The  Squire  lay  still,  and  looked  up  into  the  sky. 
Except  for  the  aching  in  his  neck  he  was  now  free  from 
pain,  and  having  tested  by  movement  all  the  muscles  of 
his  body,  was  relieved  to  find  that  he  had  got  off  rather 
lightly  after  all.  It  was  an  awkward,  and  rather  an 
absurd  predicament  to  be  in,  but  with  the  certainty  of 
getting  free  very  shortly,  he  was  not  overmuch  dis- 
posed to  grumble  at  it.  Virginia's  appearance  had 
been  providential,  and  she  had  been  as  concerned  for 
him  as  he  was  for  himself.  The  stile  was  an  old  and 
very  solid  one,  and  had  come  down  on  him  en  masse. 
It  was  doubtful  whether  a  man  could  have  done  more 
with  it,  single-handed,  than  she  had  done,  and  a  man 
might  not  have  thought  of  loosening  his  stock  and 
fetching  water  when  he  had  fainted.  He  had  never 
fainted  before.  It  was  a  curious,  not  wholly  unpleas- 
ant, sensation.  He  allowed  his  thoughts  to  dwell  on 
it,  idly,  as  he  lay  still,  staring  up  at  the  sky,  not  now  in 
great  discomfort. 

He  became  aware  of  something  soft  under  his  head. 
When  he  had  first  fallen  into  the  ditch  he  had  lain 
with  his  head  in  the  mud  and  had  had  to  raise  it  to  see 
what  he  could  now  see  comfortably.  His  right  arm  had 
been  disengaged,  and  he  put  up  his  hand  to  feel  what 
it  was  that  was  beneath  him.  He  felt  warm  silk  and 
the  smooth  hardness  of  Melton  cloth,  and  then  he  re- 
membered that  Virginia  had  looked  rather  curious  as 
to  her  attire  when  he  had  come  to  himself  after  his 
little  fainting  fit.  She  had  taken  off  her  jacket  and 
propped  up  his  head  with  it.  At  that  discovery  he 
arrived  definitely  at  the  point  of  liking  her. 
.  It  was  not  long  before  he  heard  her  calUng  to  him, 
and  then  the  trot  of  her  horse  across  the  grass.  "  They 
are  coming  in  a  moment,"  she  cried  out  as  she  rode  up 
to  him ;  "  two  men  from  the  farm,  and  they  will  get  you 
free  in  no  time." 

He  looked  at  her  a  little  curiously,  and  she  blushed 


THE    RUN    OF    THE    SEASON       337 

as  she  met  his  gaze.  When  a  woman  has  taken  off  the 
coat  of  her  riding  habit  slie  has  begun  to  undress,  and 
whatever  comes  next  to  it  is  not  meant  for  the  public 
gaze.  But  she  had  not  cared  about  that.  If  she  had 
he  would  not  have  been  lying  with  a  pillow  under  his 
head  and  she  looking  down  upon  him,  so  to  speak,  in  her 
shirt  sleeves. 

"  Put  on  your  coat  before  they  come,"  said  the 
Squire.     "  I'm  all  right  now ;  and  thank  you." 

The  two  farm  labourers  who  came  running  up  the 
meadow  made  short  work  of  pulling  the  stile  off  him, 
and  Virginia  helped  him  to  rise  and  to  climb  out  of  the 
ditch.  He  stood  on  the  grass  stiff  and  rather  dazed, 
with  his  left  arm  hanging  uselessly,  and  she  supported 
him  for  a  moment,  until  he  said,  "  I'm  all  right  now. 
I'll  walk  over  to  the  farm,  and  perhaps  they'll  lend 
me  something  to  take  me  home  in." 

"  The  farmer  has  gone  for  the  doctor,"  she  said,  "  and 
they  are  going  to  send  a  pony  carriage  up  for  you. 
See,  I've  brought  a  rug  for  you  to  sit  on  till  they 
come." 

She  spread  it  on  the  ground,  and  he  sat  down  heavily, 
giving  an  exclamation  of  pain  as  he  jarred  the  broken 
bone.  Virginia  knelt  beside  him  and  put  the  handker- 
chief she  had  already  damped  to  his  brow.  But  he 
hitched  himself  away  from  her.  He  did  not  want  the 
men,  now  staring  at  him  with  bovine  concern,  to  see  him 
dependent  on  a  woman.  "  Don't  bother  any  more,"  he 
said.     "  I'm  all  right  now." 

She  got  him  to  the  farm,  the  doctor,  who  happened 
to  be  in  the  village,  bound  up  his  arm,  a  fly  was  pro- 
cured, and  he  set  off  for  home,  Virginia,  who  had  left 
her  horse  at  the  farm,  by  his  side.  By  the  time  they 
had  gone  half-way,  his  accident  now  being  known,  a 
neighbour's  motor-car  was  sent  to  meet  him,  and  in  it 
they  performed  the  rest  of  the  journey.  But  he  refused 
to  allow  Virginia  to  send  a  telegram.     "  It'll  only  upset 


338  THE   ELDEST    SON 

'era,"  he  said,  "  and  there's  nothing  the  matter  with  me 


now." 


And  that  was  why  he  arrived  in  on  his  wife  and 
daughters  and  himself  brought  the  news  that  there  was 
nothing  to  make  a  fuss  about. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 


PROPERTY 


It  may  be  imagined  that  the  high  favour  in  which  Vir- 
ginia was  now  held  was  extremely  gratifying  to  Dick. 
"  I  knew  you  could  do  it  if  you  tried,"  he  said,  smiling 
down  on  her,  his  arm  round  her  shoulder,  "  and,  by 
Jove,  you've  done  it  to  some  tune.  He  wouldn't  have 
any  one  else  now  for  a  daughter-in-law,  if  I  were  to 
offer  him  his  pick  of  the  royal  princesses  of  Europe." 

"  He's  an  old  dear,"  said  Virginia.  "  You  didn't 
give  me  in  the  least  a  true  picture  of  his  character." 

Dick  laughed.  He  could  afford  to  let  this  feminine 
charge  go  by.  "  He  wants  me  to  talk  business  with 
him  this  evening,  after  dinner,"  he  said.  "  But  he 
wants  to  talk  to  you  again  first,  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  he's  been  talking  to  you  nearly  all  day.  Mind  you 
keep  calm,  my  girl.  We're  not  going  to  throw  up  our 
job  yet  awhile.  If  he  wants  us  here  he'll  have  to  wait 
for  us." 

Virginia  went  up  with  Mrs.  Clinton  to  the  big  room, 
in  the  big  bed  of  which  the  Squire  was  sitting  propped 
up  with  pillows,  in  a  camel's-hair  dressing-gown,  the 
seams  of  which  had  been  slit  up  and  tied  again  over  his 
bound-down  arm. 

"  Ah,  here  you  are,"  he  said  in  his  usual  hearty  tone. 
"  Nina,  I  want  a  word  or  two  with  Virginia.  She'll 
call  you  when  she  goes." 

Mrs.  Clinton  took  her  dismissal  and  Virginia  her 
seat  in  a  low  chair  by  the  bed,  facing  him. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said ;  "  no  good  beating  about  the 
bush  any  longer.  We're  very  good  friends  now,  and 
I  hope  we  shall  remain  so  all  our  lives.     But  there's 

339 


340  THE   ELDEST   SON 

no  good  disguising  that  we've  been  at  cross-purposes, 
and  I  want  all  that  put  right  now.  Let's  look  facts  in 
the  face.  It  was  more  my  fault  than  yours,  I  dare  say, 
but  there  have  been  faults  on  both  sides,  and  we  shan't 
gain  anything  by  pretending  that  we've  all  behaved  as 
we  ought  to  have  done." 

.  "  You're  quite  right,"  said  Virginia,  smiling  at  him. 
"  I'll  listen  to  anything  you  have  to  say,  and  you  might 
begin  by  telling  me  where  my  fault  has  been." 

"  Eh  !  what !  "  exclaimed  the  Squire.  "  Well,  I  sup- 
pose you  won't  deny  that  you  came  down  here  to  steal 
a  march  on  me.^^  " 

"  I  wanted  to  know  you,"  said  Virginia  sweetly.  "  I 
knew  I  should  love  you  if  I  did.  And  I  was  quite  right. 
I  do  know  you  now,  and  I  do  love  you,  better  than  any 
other  man,  except  Dick." 

The  Squire  thought  this  a  very  pretty  speech,  and, 
as  it  came  from  a  very  pretty  woman,  its  effect  on 
him  was  beneficial.  "  Well,  you  have  taken  a  liking 
to  me,"  he  said,  "  and  I  have  taken  a  liking  to  you. 
So  we're  quits,  and  it's  a  pity  both  of  us  didn't  do  it 
before,  for  I  tell  you  frankly  I  have  made  certain  prom- 
ises which  I  shouldn't  have  made  if  I  had  felt  about  you 
as  I  do  now,  and  I  don't  quite  see  how  I  can  get  out 
of  them." 

"You  mean  about  money.''"  said  Virginia.  "Dear 
Mr.  Clinton,  please  don't  worry  any  more  about  that. 
Dick  and  I  have  got  over  whatever  disappointment  we 
may  have  felt  about  it — /  never  felt  any  at  all  except 
for  his  sake — long  ago.  He  has  been  lucky  in  getting 
this  job,  and  we  shall  be  as  comfortable  as  possible." 

"This  job!"  repeated  the  Squire,  with  much  dis- 
taste of  the  word.  "  Dick  oughtn't  to  be  wanting  a 
job  at  all,  and  he  won't  be  wanting  one  now.  He  must 
give  it  up." 

"  I  don't  think  he  will  do  that  at  once,"  said  Vir- 
ginia.    "  He  will  consider  himself  bound;  for  a  time 


PROPERTY  341 

at  least,  to  Mr.  Spencc.  However,  that  needn't  worry 
you.  We  shall  hope  to  be  here  a  good  deal,  if  you 
want  us,  and  later  on  we  may  be  able  to  be  here,  or 
hereabouts,  altogether,  if  you  still  want  us." 

"  Of  course  I  want  you,"  said  the  Squire.  "  IVe 
wanted  Dick  all  along,  in  the  place  to  which  he  be- 
longs ;  I've  never  felt  comfortable  about  Humphrey 
taking  his  place,  and  as  for  my  Lady  Susan,  I  shall 
be  very  pleased  to  welcome  her  as  a  daughter-in-law, 
but,  if  you  want  the  truth,  my  dear,  you're  worth  six 
of  her,  and  if  you  can't  live  here,  well,  I  won't  have 
her,  and  that's  flat.     I'll  keep  the  place  empty." 

"  Oh,  but  surely !  "  exclaimed  Virginia.  "  You've 
promised,  haven't  you.'^  Humphrey  told  me  it  was  ar- 
ranged that  he  should  live  in  the  dower-house  when  he 
was   married." 

"  He  did,  did  he.^  Seems  to  me  Master  Humphrey  is 
counting  his  chickens  before  they  are  hatched.  No, 
I  never  promised.  I  never  promised  him  anything.  At 
least,  I  believe  I  did  promise  him  a  certain  allowance, 
which  is  to  be  increased  from  another  quarter.  But 
beyond  that  nothing  was  said  definitely." 

"  No,  but  it  was  implied.  Oh,  Mr.  Clinton,  please 
don't  make  us  the  cause  of  disappointment  to  others. 
We  don't  want  it.  We  shall  be  very  well  off  as  it  is. 
We  don't  want  any  more,  really  we  don't.  Dick  has  a 
fine  position,  handsomely  paid,  and  I  have  money  of  my 
own  too,  you  know,  and  a  good  deal  of  it." 

For  the  first  time  the  Squire  frowned.  "  I  suppose 
you  have,"  he  said  shortly.  "  But  to  tell  3'ou  the  plain 
truth,  I  don't  like  the  quarter  it  comes  from,  and  I 
very  much  doubt  if  Dick  does  either." 

"  I  don't  much,  either,"  said  Virginia,  smiling  to  her- 
self. 

"  I'm  glad  of  that,  at  any  rate.  No,  you're  lo^^al 
enough  to  Dick.  You'll  be  able  to  forget  the  past ;  it 
hasn't  soiled  you.     That's  what  I  was  afraid  of,  and  I 


342  THE    ELDEST    SON 

see  I  was  wrong.     Still,  this  money — it's  stuck  in  my 
throat  as  much  as  anything." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Virginia,  "  it  need  not  stick  in 
your  throat  any  longer.  I  know  what  you  think  as 
to  where  it  came  from.  Dick  thought  the  same,  and  it 
stuck  in  his  throat  too,  till  I  told  him  the  truth.  Now 
I'll  tell  it  to  you.  It's  my  own  money,  every  cent  of 
it,  and  it  came  to  me  after — after  my  husband  died. 
I  have  nothing  that  comes  from  him.  I  wouldn't  keep 
it  if  I  had.  I'm  an  heiress,  Mr.  Clinton — not  a  very 
heavily  gilded  one,  it's  true,  and  the  money  my  uncle 
left  me  was  made  out  of  pork-packing,  which  is  a 
dreadful  thing  to  talk  about  in  this  house.  Still,  you 
must  forget  that.  Only  the  capital  sum  comes  from 
pork,  and  it's  all  invested  in  nice  clean  things  like  rail- 
ways." 

The  Squire  stared  at  her  during  this  recital  as  if 
fascinated.  The  moment  was  almost  too  solemn  for 
words.  "  Well,  my  dear,"  he  said  after  a  short  pause, 
"  you  lifted  one  weight  from  me  yesterday,  and  now 
you've  lifted  another,  and  a  bigger  one.  Go  away,  and 
leave  me  to  think  about  it." 

He  thought  about  it  for  some  time  after  she  had  left 
him,  propped  up  on  his  pillows,  his  mind  growing  ever 
lighter.  In  the  midst  of  all  his  perversities,  his  dislike 
of  the  thought  of  his  son  living,  in  part,  on  money  that 
had  come  from  "  that  blackguard  "  had  been  an  hon- 
ourable and  unselfish  feeling,  and  the  removal  of  the 
fear  swept  away  with  it  every  other  trace  of  his  long- 
nurtured  objections  to  Virginia  as  a  wife  for  Dick. 
Now  all  he  desired  was  that  Dick  should  return  to  his 
honoured  place  at  Kencote,  and  all  should  be  as  it 
had  been  before,  with  only  the  addition  of  Virginia's 
charming  presence  to  complete  the  happiness  of  the 
tie.  He  did  not  think  at  all  about  Humphrey,  nor  of 
the  new  interests  on  which,  a  week  or  so  before,  he  had 
been  anxious  to  pin  his  anticipations. 


PROPERTY  343 

But  Humphrey  had  to  be  thought  of,  all  the  same. 
Mrs.  Clinton,  coming  into  his  room,  said  that  Hum- 
phrey would  like  to  come  and  see  him  and  have  a  talk, 
and  asked  if  he  felt  well  enough  to  talk  to  him. 

"  Oh,  well  enough.?  Yes,"  he  said.  "  Never  felt  bet- 
ter in  my  life.  I've  a  good  mind  to  get  up  for  dinner. 
Nina,  Virginia  has  just  told  me  something  that  I  wish 
I  had  known  before.  It  has  pleased  me  beyond 
measure." 

He  imparted  to  her  Virginia's  disclosure,  and  she 
expressed  herself  pleased  too,  wondering  a  little  at  the 
ways  of  men  about  money,  that  potent  disturber  of 
lives. 

"  That  removes  every  difficulty,"  he  said.  "  And  I'm 
very  glad  of  it,  for  Dick's  sake.  I  don't  know  how 
much  it  is  and  I  haven't  asked  her,  but  she  must  be 
pretty  well  off.  Dick  won't  need  it,  but  it's  always 
useful." 

"  It  will  make  it  easier  to  do  what  you  promised  for 
Humphrey,"  said  Mrs.  Clinton. 

"For  Humphrey?"  he  echoed.  "Oh  yes.  Fifteen 
hundred  a  year  is  a  pretty  big  allowance  for  a  younger 
son.  He's  a  lucky  fellow.  Master  Humphrey.  Did  you 
say  he  wanted  to  see  me?    Well,  send  him  up." 

Humphrey  came  in,  and  stood  by  his  father's  bed- 
side. 

"  Well,  my  boy ! "  said  the  Squire  pleasantly. 

"Picking  up  all  right,  I  hope?"  said  Humphrey. 
"  Might  have  been  a  nasty  business." 

"  Sit  down,"  said  the  Squire.  "  I've  just  heard  a 
thing  that  has  pleased  me  amazingly.  Funny  how  one 
gets  an  idea  into  one's  head  when  there's  no  foundation 
for  it ! "  Then  he  told  Humphrey  about  Virginia's 
money. 

Humphrey  had  not  much  to  say  in  answer  to  the 
information,  but  sat  thinking. 

"  Well,  now,"  said  the  Squire,  with  the  air  of  pne 


SU  THE   ELDEST   SON 

turning  from  thoughts  of  pleasure  to  thoughts  of  busi- 
ness. "  Of  course,  all  this  makes  a  difference.  Dick 
and  I  have  had  a  row — you  may  put  it  like  that  if  you 
please — and  we've  made  it  up.  He'll  come  back  here,  I 
hope,  and  settle  down,  and  things  will  be  as  they  were 
before.  I  don't  think  you're  cut  out  for  a  country  life 
altogether,  and  dare  say  you  won't  be  sorry  for  the 
change.  So  it  will  suit  us  all  pretty  well,  taking  one 
thing  with  another,  eh  ?  " 

Humphrey  said  nothing  for  a  moment.  Then  he 
asked  shortly,  "  Do  you  mean  that  I'm  not  to  have  the 
dower-house,  after  all.^  " 

"Have  the  dower-house?"  repeated  the  Squire,  as 
if  that  were  the  last  thing  that  had  ever  crossed  his 
mind.  "  When  did  I  ever  say  that  you  were  to  have  the 
dower-house  .P  It  isn't  mine  to  give  you.  It  goes  with 
the  property — to  Dick  eventually ;  you  know  that  per- 
fectly well." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  know  that,"  said  Humphrey,  with  some 
impatience.  "  I  meant,  have  it  to  live  in.  That's  what 
was  arranged,  and  I  told  Susan  so,  and  Lady  Alde- 
burgh." 

"  Then  I  think  you  were  in  a  bit  of  a  hurry,"  said 
the  Squire.  "  I  told  you  I  should  settle  nothing  till 
Dick's  marriage." 

Humphrey  found  it  difficult  to  keep  his  temper.  "  If 
you'll  excuse  my  saying  so,"  he  said,  with  a  slight 
tremor  in  his  voice,  "  we've  been  talking  of  nothing  else 
for  weeks  past,  and  as  to  what  part  I  was  to  take  in 
the  management  of  the  place.  I'd  every  right  to  tell 
them  that  at  Thatchover." 

"  Well,  perhaps  you  had,"  assented  the  Squire  tol- 
erantly. "  And  I  don't  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  you 
can't  live  there  for  a  bit  either.  I  want  Dick  and  Vir- 
ginia to  live  there,  and  I  tell  you  so  plainly,  and  I 
shall  do  all  I  can  to  persuade  him  to.  But  he  may  think 
he's  bound  to  this  fellow,  Spence,  for  six  months  or  so. 


PROPERTY  345 

and  if  you  get  married  in  time,  and  care  to  occupy  the 
house  for  a  bit  and  keep  it  warm  for  him,  well,  you'll 
be  very  welcome.  But,  on  the  whole,  I  think  you'd  be 
wiser  to  settle  down  where  you're  going  to  stay.  With 
the  very  handsome  allowance  I'm  going  to  make  you, 
and  what  old  Aunt  Laura  has  promised  to  add  to  it, 
and  whatever  Susan  brings  you,  though  I  dare  say 
that  won't  be  much,  you'll  be  exceptionally  well  off,  and 
can  live  pretty  well  where  you  like." 

Humphrey  choked  down  his  anger.  "  What  about 
Partisham.P"  he  asked,  but  it  was  an  unwise  question, 
for  whatever  definite  arrangement  the  Squire  had  had 
in  his  mind  and  allowed  to  be  talked  about,  Partisham 
had  not  come  into  it,  although  it  was  true  that  he  had 
let  it  be  seen  what  was  in  his  mind. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  want  me  to  leave  Par- 
tisham away  from  Dick,  and  give  it  to  you.?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  want  you  to  keep  to  your  promises,"  replied 
Humphrey  doggedly.  "  You've  been  feeding  me  up 
for  the  last  month  with  all  sorts  of  statements  as  to 
what  you  were  going  to  do  for  me ;  then  you  suddenly 
make  it  up  with  Dick,  and  want  to  kick  me  out  alto- 
gether, and  expect  me  to  take  it  all  without  a  word, 
and  consider  myself  lucky.  I  call  it  grossly  unfair.  I 
haven't  only  myself  to  think  of.  You  even  want  to 
chuck  the  arrangement  that  you  say  I'd  a  perfect 
right,  relying  on  what  you  said,  to  tell  Susan  about." 

"  I  think  you're  most  infernally  ungrateful,"  said 
the  Squire  angrily.  "  Point  me  out  another  younger 
son  in  England  who  is  given  two  thousand  a  year  to 
set  up  house  on." 

"  That  doesn't  all  come  from  you,"  said  Humphrey, 
"  and  there  are  plenty  of  younger  sons  whose  fathers  are 
as  rich  as  you  who  would  get  that.  Besides,  that  isn't  the 
point.  If  that's  all  you'd  said  you'd  do  for  me,  I'd  have 
said  thank  you  and  cut  my  coat  according  to  my  cloth. 
But  you  know  quite  well  it  isn't  all.     The  dower-house 


346  THE    ELDEST   SON 

was  a  definite  understanding  at  any  rate,  and  if  you 
didn't  mean  that  Partisham  was  to  come  to  me  eventu- 
ally, and  Checquers  come  either  to  me  or  go  to  Walter, 
then  your  words  don't  mean  anything  at  all." 

The  accusation  had  too  much  truth  in  it  even  for 
the  Squire  to  contradict  it  altogether.  "  Partisham  is 
likely  to  be  one  of  the  best  bits  of  the  whole  estate," 
he  said.  "  In  ten  years'  time  half  of  it  will  be  build- 
ing land,  and  even  with  these  wicked  taxes,  it  will  be 
a  very  valuable  piece  of  property.  It  isn't  likely,  now 
Dick  has  come  to  reason,  that  I'm  going  to  leave  it 
away  from  him,  and  you  oughtn't  to  expect  it." 

"  Now  Dick  has  come  to  reason !  "  repeated  Hum- 
phrey bitterly.  "  Dick  stands  exactly  where  he's  al- 
ways stood.  It's  you  who've  changed  your  mind,  and 
you  expect  me  to  fall  in  and  take  it  smiling.  I  say 
again,  it's  grossly  unfair." 

"  That's  not  the  way  to  talk  to  me,"  said  the  Squire 
hotly.  "  You're  forgetting  yourself.  If  you're  not 
precious  careful  you  won't  get  the  money  I'd  put  aside 
for  you,  let  alone  anything  else." 

Humphrey  got  up  from  his  chair.  "  I'd  better  gb," 
he  said.  "  If  your  word  means  nothing  at  all,  I  may 
as  well  break  off  my  engagement.  I  thought  it  was 
good  enough  to  get  married  on,"  and  he  left  the 
room. 

The  Squire  lay  and  fumed.  A  pretty  return  he  was 
getting  for  all  he'  had  promised  to  do  for  Humphrey ! 
Was  ever  such  ingratitude.^  His  mind  dwelt  wholly 
on  the  very  handsome  provision  that  was  to  be  made 
for  his  immediate  marriage,  and  he  grew  more  and 
more  indignant  as  he  asked  himself,  again  and  yet 
again,  what  younger  son  of  a  plain  country  gentle- 
man could  possibly  expect  more.  At  last  he  rang  his 
bell  and  told  his  servant  to  ask  Captain  Clinton  to  come 
to  him. 

But  before  Dick  arrived  Mrs.  Clinton  came  in  again, 


PROPERTY  347 

and  to  her  he  unburdened  liimself  of  some  of  his  indig- 
nation at  Humphrey's  ingratitude. 

She  heard  him  without  comment,  and  then  said 
slowly,  "  I  think  Humphrey  and  Susan  ought  to  have 
the  dower-house,  Edward." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  the  Squire.  "  Turn  Dick  out 
of  the  place  that  has  always  been  his,  and  put  a  younger 
son  into  it !  You  say  I  ought  to  do  that,  Nina.^  What 
can  you  be  thinking  of.''  " 

''Has  Dick's  place  always  been  his,  Edward?"  she 
asked,  with  her  calm  eyes  on  his. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  snapped  at  her ;  and  then 
went  on  quickly  in  his  loud,  blustering  tone,  "  Dick  and 
I  fell  out,  it's  true,  and  if  he  had  married  without  my 
sanction  I  should  have  acted  in  a  way  I'm  not  going 
to  act  now.  I've  come  round — I  don't  deny  I've 
come  round — to  be  in  favour  of  his  marriage,  and 
I'm  not  going  to  make  him  suffer  for  the  misunder- 
standing." 

At  this  point  Dick  came  into  the  room,  and  the 
Squire  said,  "  Well,  I'll  talk  to  you  later,  Nina.  I 
want  to  get  things  settled  up  with  Dick  now." 

But  Dick  looked  at  her  kindly.  "  Mother  may  as 
well  stay  and  take  a  hand  in  the  discussion,"  he 
said.  "  We  owe  it  to  her  that  we're  all  friends 
again,  and  I  think  she's  got  a  better  head  than  any  of 
us." 

"Your  mother  was  just  saying,"  said  the  Squire, 
"  that  I  ought  to  let  Humphrey  and  Susan  have  the 
dower-house.  I'm  not  going  to  do  anything  of  the 
sort.  There  was  a  sort  of  an  understanding  that  they 
should  live  there  when  I  thought  you  and  I  weren't  com- 
ing together  again.  I  had  to  make  some  arrangements. 
But  even  if  I  didn't  want  you  there,  I  don't  know  that 
I  should  consent  to  it  now.  Humphrey  has  taken  up  a 
most  extraordinary  attitude,  and  I'm  very  much  an- 
noyed with  him.     He's  going  to  be  most  handsomely 


348  THE    ELDEST    SON 

treated,  more  handsomely  than  he  could  ever  have  ex- 
pected. Yet  he's  just  been  up  here  and  flung  out  of 
the  room  in  a  rage  because  I  won't  promise  to  leave  him 
Partisham,  if  you  please." 

"  Leave  him  what .?  "  asked  Dick. 

"  Partisham ;  and  all  the  land  that  came  in  with  it ; 
and  Checquers  too.  No,  I'm  wrong ;  I'm  instructed  to 
leave  that  to  Walter.  I  say  it's  a  scandalous  position 
for  a  son  to  take  up.  I'm  not  an  old  man,  and  I  hope 
I've  got  a  good  many  years  to  live  yet,  and  I'm  to 
have  my  sons  quarrelling  already  about  what  I'm  to 
do  with  my  property  after  I'm  dead." 

"  I  suppose  he  saw  his  chance  when  I  was  out  of  fa- 
vour," said  Dick,  "  and  is  wild  because  what  he  hoped 
for  didn't  come  off.  What  did  you  actually  promise  to 
do  for  him?  " 

"  I  promised  to  make  him  an  allowance  of  fifteen  hun- 
dred a  year,  and  I'm  prepared  to  keep  my  word,  of 
course." 

"  Well,  that's  pretty  good  to  begin  with." 

"  But,  good  gracious  me,  that  isn't  all  of  what  he's 
going  to  have.  Old  Aunt  Laura  is  going  to  give 
him  another  five  hundred,  and  she's  consulted  me 
about   leaving  him   the   bulk   of   her   money   when   she 

goes." 

"  Aunt  Laura  !  Five  hundred  a  year !  "  exclaimed 
Dick,  in  utter  surprise.     "  Can  she  do  it.?  " 

The  Squire  gave  a  short  laugh.  "  I  might  have 
known  that  the  old  ladies  had  saved  a  good  deal,"  he 
said,  "  but  I  never  thought  much  about  it.  At  any  rate 
that's  a  definite  offer  from  her — the  allowance,  I  mean. 
Whether  I  let  her  make  a  will  almost  entirely  in  his  fa- 
vour, is  another  matter;  and  if  he  doesn't  behave  him- 
self I  shall  do  all  I  can  to  stop  it." 

"  He  must  have  been  pretty  clever  in  getting  round 
her,"  said  Dick.  "  I  know  he's  been  working  hard  at 
it.     Rather  a  dirty  trick,  to  my  mind — working  on  an 


PROPERTY  349 

old  woman  for  her  money.  Still,  different  people  have 
different  ideas.  Did  you  promise  him  the  dower- 
house.^  " 

The  Squire  began  humming  and  hahing,  and  Mrs. 
Clinton  broke  in.  "  It  was  a  very  definite  understand- 
ing," she  said.  "  I  must  take  Humphrey's  part  there. 
It  was  understood  that  he  should  give  up  the  Foreign 
Office  as  soon  as  possible,  and  settle  down  here  to  help 
look  after  the  property." 

"  If  things  had  been  as  we  then  feared  they  would 
be,"  said  the  Squire.     "  That  was  always  understood." 

Mrs.  Clinton  was  silent,  and  Dick  said,  rather  un- 
willingly, "  You'd  better  let  him  have  the  dower-house 
— say  for  two  years.  I  can't  throw  Spence  over  now, 
and  I  can't  do  my  best  for  him  under  that." 

The  Squire  expostulated  loudly.  He  wanted  Dick 
and  Virginia  near  him.  He  was  getting  on  in  years. 
He  might  be  in  his  grave  in  two  years'  time.  But  Dick 
remained  firm.  "  I  don't  want  to  rake  up  old  scores," 
he  said.  "  But  you  mustn't  forget  that  until  a  week 
or  so  ago  you  were  going  to  cut  me  off  with  a  shilling. 
I  had  to  find  a  job,  and  I  was  precious  lucky  to  get  this 
one.  I  owe  something  to  the  fellow  w^ho  gave  it  to 
me." 

"  I  think  you  do,"  Mrs.  Clinton  said  before  the 
Squire  could  speak ;  "  and,  Edward,  I  think  you  must 
remember,  in  justice  to  Humphrey,  that  what  applies 
to  Dick  applies  to  him  too.  You  took  a  certain  course, 
very  strongly,  and  both  Dick  and  Humphrey  acted 
on  it." 

"  I  don't  want  to  hear  any  more  about  Humphrey," 
said  the  Squire.  "  I  don't  want  him  in  the  dower-house, 
nor  Susan  either." 

"Well,  you  must  settle  that  with  him,"  said  Dick. 
"  I  dare  say  he'll  be  quite  ready  to  make  a  bargain 
with  you.  He  seems  rather  good  at  it.  He  hasn't  con- 
cerned himself  much  with  my  side  of  the  question,  and 


350  THE    ELDEST   SON 

I'm  not  going  to  stick  up  for  his,  especially  as  he  comes 
off  so  well,  anyhow." 

That  was  practically  the  end  of  the  discussion,  and 
the  Squire  was  left  lamenting  the  frowardness  of  hu- 
man nature. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 


BROTHEES 


When  Dick  went  downstairs  again  he  said  to  Virginia, 
'"•  Put  on  your  hat  and  let's  go  and  have  tea  with  old 
Aunt  Laura."  She  went  obediently  upstairs,  and  pres- 
ently they  were  walking  down  the  drive  together  in  the 
gathering  dusk. 

"Is  everything  going  to  be  all  right?"  Virginia 
asked  him.  "  Are  we  quite  forgiven,  and  is  our  own 
to  be  restored  to  us.^*  " 

"  I  don't  think  we  shall  have  much  difficulty  in  get- 
ting all  we're  entitled  to,"  replied  Dick. 

Virginia  put  her  arm  into  his.  "  It's  nearly  dark 
and  nobody's  about,"  she  said  in  apology.  "  Dear  Dick, 
it  is  nice  to  be  here  on  these  terms.  I  do  really  feel  that 
I  belong  to  you,  now — and  to  Kencote." 

Dick  pressed  her  hand  to  his  side.  "  I  nearly  had 
to  give  up  Kencote  to  get  you,"  he  said.  "  Now  I've 
got  you  and  Kencote,  and  I've  nothing  left  to  ask  for. 
My  experience  in  life  is  that  you  generally  get  all  you 
want  if  you  go  to  work  in  a  straightforward  way." 

"  Then  your  experience  in  life  is  a  very  fortunate 
one,"  replied  Virginia.  "  I've  never  had  what  I  wanted 
before,  although  I  think  I've  been  fairly  straightfor- 
ward. But  I've  got  it  now,  dear  Dick,  and  /  won't  ask 
for  anything  further,  either.  I  feel  very  happy  and 
comfortable,  and  if  we  weren't  near  the  lodge  I  should 
lift  up  my  voice  in  song." 

Aunt  Laura  was,  it  is  needless  to  say,  both  flattered 
and  genuinely  pleased  at  their  visit,  for  this  modest 
old  lady  liked  company,  but  was  diffident  of  her  own 
powers  of  attracting  it.     "  This  is  the  nicest  thing  that 

851 


352  THE    ELDEST    SON 

could  have  happened,"  she  said,  when  she  had  settled 
down  in  close  proximity  to  her  tea-table.  "  The  dear 
children  came  in  this  morning  with  their  new  governess 
— a  very  competent  person,  I  should  say,  though  not 
quite  so  respectful  in  her  manner  as  Miss  Bird  used  to 
be — not  that  she  was  in  any  way  rude,  I  don't  mean 
that,  but  Miss  Bird  was  always  cheerful  and  bright, 
and  yet  knew  her  place ;  and  Humphrey  paid  me  a  visit 
this  afternoon ;  so  I  said  to  myself  as  I  sat  down  to 
tea,  '  I  have  had  two  very  pleasant  visits  to-day  and  can 
hardly  hope  for  a  third.  I  must  drink  my  tea  by  my- 
self.' However,  here  you  both  are,  and  I  am  very 
pleased  indeed  to  see  you,  very  pleased  indeed.  Your 
dear  father  is  none  the  worse  since  I  last  had  word,  I 
hope,   Dick.?" 

"  He's  as  well  as  can  be,  and  talks  about  getting  up 
for  dinner,"  replied  Dick. 

"  Oh,  indeed,  he  must  not  do  that,"  said  Aunt  Laura 
earnestly.  "  It  would  be  the  greatest  mistake.  He  has 
such  courage  and  vitality  that  he  cannot  realise  what 
a  terrible  shock  he  has  undergone.  His  only  chance,  if 
he  is  to  escape  all  ill  effects  from  it,  is  to  keep  as  quiet 
as  possible  for  a  long  time  yet.  I  am  sure  when  I  think 
of  what  might  have  happened  to  him,  if  you,  my  dear, 
had  not  been,  so  mercifully,  on  the  spot,  I  go  cold  all 
over.  Indeed,  his  escape  was,  in  the  highest  sense  of 
the  word,  providential,  and  I  am  sure  we  are  all  deeply 
grateful  for  it,  and  can  lift  up  our  hearts  in  thanks- 
giving. Humphrey  told  me  the  whole  story,  in  the 
most  graphic  way,  and  while  it  made  me  shudder  it 
also  made  me  rejoice,  that  you  were  there,  my  dear,  to 
give  such  ready  assistance.     He  made  much  of  it." 

"  That  was  very  kind  of  him,"  said  Virginia.  "  But 
it  was  nothing  to  make  much  of.  I  only  went  for  help. 
And  I've  been  well  rewarded,  you  know.  Mr.  Clinton 
didn't  like  me  much  before,  and  now  he  likes  me  very 
much  indeed.     That  makes  me  very  happy." 


BROTHERS  353 

"  Of  course  it  does,"  said  Aunt  Laura  kindly.  "  Ed- 
ward is  a  man  whose  good  opinion  is  worth  having,  for 
he  does  not  give  it  without  reason,  but,  once  given,  it 
can  be  depended  on.  Well,  as  I  say,  it  is  very  good 
of  you  to  come  and  see  me.  I'm  sure  the  kind  and 
thoughtful  way  in  which  I  am  treated  by  one  and  all 
is  highly  gratifying.  You  have  not  met  Susan  Clinton,  I 
think,  dear  Humphrey's  bride  that  is  to  he?  She  also 
visited  me  frequently  while  she  was  at  Kencote,  and 
Humphrey  comes  to  see  me  every  day.  Since  you  are 
unable  to  live  here,  Dick,  I  am  very  glad  that  we  shall 
have  him  and  his  wife  in  our  old  home.  I  shall  be  very 
glad  to  see  the  dear  place  lived  in  again,  for  I  spent 
many  happy  years  of  my  life  there." 

"  Has  he  settled  how  he's  going  to  arrange  the 
rooms.?  "  asked  Dick,  in  a  tone  that  made  Virginia  look 
at  him,  although  Aunt  Laura  noticed  nothing  unusual 
in  the  question. 

"  Yes,  he  has  talked  a  good  deal  about  it,"  she  said, 
"  and  I  have  given  him  advice  upon  the  matter,  some 
of  which  he  thinks  it  quite  likely  that  he  will  take." 

"  I  hear  you've  been  very  generous  to  him,  Aunt 
Laura,"  Dick  said. 

"  Oh,  but  there  was  no  need  for  him  to  have  said 
anything  to  you  about  that,"  said  Aunt  Laura.  "  I 
wanted  to  help  him  to  marry  the  girl  he  loved,  and  it 
was  quite  true  that  a  girl  of  her  rank — not  that  her 
branch  of  the  family  is  better  than  ours,  but  they  have 
rank  and  we  have  not,  although  I  have  no  doubt  that 
we  could  have  had  it  if  we  had  wished — would  expect 
rather  more  in  her  marriage  than  other  girls,  and  I 
told  Humphrey  that  I  quite  understood  that,  as  he 
seemed  rather  low  about  his  prospects.  I  didn't  want 
your  dear  father  to  have  all  the  burden,  and  he  has 
responded  wonderfully  to  my  offer.  I  am  only  glad 
that  it  was  possible  for  me  to  help  Humphrey  in  his 
desire,  and  that  it  should  be  possible  for  me  to  do  so 


354  THE    ELDEST    SON 

without  doing  you  or  any  of  the  others  an  injus- 
tice, Dick;  for  I  know  you  are  well  provided  for, 
and  will  not  grudge  your  brother  his  share  of  good 
things." 

"  I  don't  grudge  him  anything  that  he's  entitled  to 
have,"  replied  Dick.  "  Now  I  want  you  to  tell  Vir- 
ginia about  Kencote  in  the  old  days,  when  my  great- 
grandfather was  alive.  She  wants  to  hear  all  about 
Kencote  that  she  can." 

Aunt  Laura  was  nothing  loath,  and  poured  forth  a 
gentle  stream  of  reminiscence  until  it  was  time  for  Dick 
and  Virginia  to  go. 

As  they  let  themselves  out  of  the  house  and  walked 
down  the  dark  village  street,  Dick  said,  "  Humphrey 
ought  to  be  kicked.  Fancy  sponging  on  that  simple 
old  woman !  and  getting  her  to  leave  the  bulk  of  her 
money  to  him,  and  away  from  the  rest  of  us ;  because 
that's  what  it  means.  I'll  have  it  out  with  him  as  soon 
as  I  get  home." 

"  Oh,  my  dear !  "  said  Virginia.  "  Money,  money, 
money !  What  does  it  matter  to  us  ?  We  shall  have 
plenty." 

"  We  shouldn't  have  had  plenty,  or  anything  like  it, 
if  he'd  had  his  way.  It  isn't  only  old  Aunt  Laura  he's 
been  working  on.  He's  taken  advantage  of  my  being 
out  of  favour  to  get  the  governor  to  consider  leaving 
the  best  part  of  the  property  to  him.  He  was  actually 
at  it  this  afternoon.  He  tried  to  get  a  definite  prom- 
ise out  of  him  to  leave  him  Partisham,  which  will  be 
worth  all  the  rest  put  together  some  day." 

"  But,  Dick  dear !  you  knew  all  that.  It  was  your 
father's  own  decision.     You  told  me  so." 

"  Humphrey  had  no  right  to  take  advantage  of  his 
threats  to  work  against  me.  That's  what  he's  been 
doing.  It  wasn't  like  the  governor.  I  can  see  a  good 
deal  more  daylight  now.  I  thought  I'd  only  got  his 
obstinacy   to  ,fight   against.      Now   I   see  I've  had  an 


BROTHERS  355 

enemy    at    court,    who's    been    playing    the    sneak    all 

along." 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  Virginia  said  boldly.  "  Hum- 
phrey isn't  bad.  He  has  been  very  nice  to  me.  He 
told  me  he  was  glad  that  all  this  quarrelling  was  at  an 

end." 

"  I  dare  say  he  did,"  said  Dick,  unsoftened.  "  Now 
he  sees  that  we  can't  be  kept  out  of  it  any  longer  he'd 
like  to  curry  favour." 

*'0h,  what  an  uncharitable  Dick!     That's  not  like 
you,  Dick.     We're  going  to  be  happy  together,  aren't 
we,  my  own  beloved?  "     She  was  walking  with  her  hands 
clasped  over  his  arm. 
"  I  hope  so,"  said  Dick. 

"  Well,  then,  think  of  him  a  little  too.  He  loves  a 
woman,  and  wants  to  be  happy  with  her." 

"  Oh,  love !  I  don't  believe  he  loves  her  the  least  in 
the  world.  I  know  her  well  enough.  She's  an  insipid 
clothes-peg.  I  don't  believe  he'd  look  at  her  if  she 
hadn't  got  a  title.  He's  like  that.  I  don't  know  where 
he  gets  it  from.  The  governor  likes  a  title  too,  but 
not  in  that  rotten  way." 

"You  didn't  choose  me  for  my  title,  did  you?" 
asked  Virginia. 

He  laughed  at  her.  "  Your  title  will  disappear  when 
you  marry  me,"  he  said.  "  Mrs.  Richard  CHnton  will 
have  to  do  for  you,  my  girl,  for  the  present." 

"  You  never  told  me  that,"  she  said.  "  And  I  do 
love  being  called  *  my  lady.'  However,  I  would  rather 
be  Mrs.  Richard  Clinton  than  what  I  am  now.  But, 
Dick  dear,  please  don't  have  a  row  with  Humphrey. 
Please  don't.  Let's  try  and  make  everybody  happy. 
He  must  be  feeling  disappointed,  and  perhaps  angry. 
We  can  afford  to  be  generous." 

"  I'll  tell  him  w^hat  I  think  of  him,"  said  Dick. 
"  Then  tell  him  what  you  really  think  of  him.     He's 
your  brother.     You  have  been  friends  all  your  lives. 


356  THE   ELDEST   SON 

Tell  him,  if  you  must,  that  you  don't  think  he  has  be- 
haved well.  But  don't  tell  him  that  you  think  it  isn't 
in  his  nature  to  behave  well.  There's  a  good  deal  to 
be  said  for  him.  Let  him  say  it.  And,  even  if  there 
wasn't " 

"  Well,  I  don't  think  there  is.  He's  behaved  in  a 
selfish,  underhand  way." 

"  Supposing  he  has,  Dick !  Make  allowances  for 
him.  He's  done  himself  more  harm  than  he's  done  you. 
We  ought  to  be  sorry  for  people  who  have  done  wrong. 
That's  what  I  believe  Christianity  means." 

"  Oh,  well,  yes ;  if  they're  sorry  for  it  themselves." 

"  You  can  make  them  so ;  but  not  by  being  angry 
with  them.  It  isn't  hard  to  forgive  people  when  they 
admit  they're  in  the  wrong.  It  is  hard,  otherwise,  but 
that  doesn't  make  it  any  less  right  to  do  it.  I'm  preach- 
ing, but  we're  going  to  be  always  together,  Dick,  and 
you  must  put  up  with  a  little  sermon  sometimes." 

"  You're  a  sweet  saint,  Virginia,  but  what  on  earth 
are  you  asking  me  to  do?  Am  I  to  go  to  Humphrey 
and  sa}'',  '  You've  acted  like  a  cur,  but  I  forgive  you ; 
take  all  that  you  can  get  that  has  always  been  looked 
upon  as  mine,  and  let's  say  no  more  about  it  ^?  " 

"  Oh,  don't  talk  about  the  money  or  the  property  at 
all.  Let  that  look  after  itself.  Only  remember  that 
you  were  little  boys  together,  and  were  very  fond  of 
each  other,  as  I'm  sure  you  were;  and  remember  that 
you  have  been  made  happy,  and  he  has  been  disap- 
pointed. That  ought  to  make  you  kind.  And  you  can 
be  so  kind,  Dick." 

"  I  believe  you  think  I  can  be  everything  that's 
good." 

"  I  know  you  can.  And  it  will  make  me  love  you 
even  more  than  I  do  now,  if  that's  possible,  if  you  make 
friends  with  Humphrey,  instead  of  quarrelling  with  him 
for  good.  After  all^  we're  rather  tired  of  quarrels, 
aren't  we.^  " 


BROTHERS  357 

"  I  think  we  arc,"  said  Dick. 

He  did  not  sec  Humphrey  alone  until  the  women  had 
gone  to  bed.  He  had  gone  up  to  his  father  when  they 
had  left  the  dininfr-room,  and  Humphrey  had  avoided 
speaking  to  him,  if  he  could  help  it,  all  the  evening. 
Otherwise  he  had  taken  his  part  in  the  mild  gaiety  of 
the  conversation  and  hidden  his  wounds  gallantly.  He 
was  going  upstairs  with  his  candle  when  Dick  said  to 
him,  "Are  you  coming  into  the  smoking-room.'^" 

He  looked  at  him  with  a  momentary  hostility.  "  Yes, 
when  I've  changed  my  coat,"  he  said. 

"  Mine's  down  here,"  said  Dick,  turning  away. 

When  his  servant  had  helped  him  on  with  his  smok- 
ing-jacket  and  gone  away,  he  stood  in  front  of  the  fire 
and  filled  a  pipe.  He  was  ready  to  do  Virginia's  bid- 
ding and  make  friends  with  Humphrey,  but  he  disliked 
the  job,  and  didn't  know  exactly  how  he  was  going  to 
begin.  And  he  was  going  to  speak  plainly  too.  Hum- 
phrey had  behaved  badly,  and  he  was  going  to  tell  him 
so — kindly. 

Humphrey  came  in  and  lit  a  cigarette  before  either 
of  them  spoke.  As  he  threw  the  match  into  the  fire 
he  said,  "  I  suppose  you  want  to  have  it  out." 

His  tone  was  not  conciliatory.  He  was  both  angry 
and  nervous.  Dick's  brain  cleared  as  if  by  magic.  He 
had  a  situation  to  control. 

"  Well,  I  think  we  ought  to  have  a  talk,"  he  said. 
"  Things  have  been  going  wrong  with  me,  and  now 
they've  come  right,  and  you  don't  appear  to  be  quite 
as  much  rejoiced  at  it  as  you  might  be." 

"If  you  put  it  like  that,  I'm  not  rejoiced  at  all," 
said  Humphrey,  "  and  I'm  not  going  to  pretend  to  be." 

"  But  you  told  Virginia  you  were,"  Dick  put  in. 

Humphrey  was  for  a  moment  disconcerted.  "  I'm 
glad  as  far  as  she's  concerned,"  he  said.  "  She  oughtn't 
to  have  been  treated  as  she  has  been,  and  I've  always 
said  so." 


358  THE    ELDEST    SON 

"  Oh,  have  you?  "  commented  Dick. 

Humphrey  flushed  angrily.  "  If  you  think  I've  been 
working  against  you,"  he  said,  "  it's  quite  untrue." 

"  Well,  you've  been  working  for  your  own  hand,  and 
it  comes  to  much  the  same  thing." 

"  I  haven't  even  been  doing  that.  The  governor 
made  me  a  lot  of  promises,  and  I  didn't  ask  him  to  make 
one  of  them." 

"What  about  Partisham.?  " 

"  You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  he'd  definitely  made 
up  his  mind  to  leave  as  much  away  from  you  as  he 
could,  and  that  was  the  chief  thing  he  had  to  leave 
away.     I  didn't  ask  him  to  do  it,  but " 

"  It  didn't  occur  to  you  to  ask  him  not  to  do  it, 
I  suppose?  Because  it's  a  pret'y  stiff  thing  to  do — 
to  leave  away  most  of  what  keeps  up  the  place." . 

"  No,  it  didn't  occur  to  me,  and  it  wouldn't  have 
occurred  to  you  if  you'd  been  in  my  place.  I  tell  you 
I  didn't  ask  for  anything,  except  for  enough  to  get 
married  on.  But  when  it  came  to  having  it  chucked 
at  me — well,  if  you  want  the  plain  truth,  it  happened 
to  suit  my  book." 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say  it  did.  And  what  about  Aunt 
Laura?  You've  been  doing  pretty  well  out  of  her  too, 
haven't  you?  " 

Humphrey  flushed  again.  "  Look  here,"  he  said, 
"  I'm  not  going  to  talk  to  you  any  longer.  You  stand 
there  sneering  because  you've  got  everything  you  want 
now,  and  you  think  you  can  amuse  yourself  by  baiting 
me.  I'm  going  upstairs,  and  you  can  do  your  sneering 
by  yourself.  Only  I'll  tell  you  this  before  I  go.  I'm 
going  to  play  my  hand,  and  I  don't  care  whether  I've 
got  you  up  against  me  or  not.  I  consider  I've  been 
precious  badly  treated.  I'm  encouraged  to  go  and  tell 
the  Aldeburghs  all  sorts  of  things  about  what's  going 
to  be  done  for  me  when  I'm  married,  and  I  come  back 
and  am  told  coolly  that  none  of  it's  going  to  happen  at 


BROTHERS  359 

all,  and  I'm  to  consider  myself  d d  lucky  to  get  just 

enough  to  live  on." 

"  Well,  you're  going  to  have  a  bit  more  than  enough 
to  live  on,  and  you're  welcome  to  it  as  far  as  I'm  con- 
cerned.    And  the  dower-house  too — for  a  bit." 

"  Thanks  very  much.  I'm  likely  to  take  that  on — 
live  in  a  house  by  your  kind  permission  and  get  kicked 
out  the  moment  you  want  it  for  yourself !  " 

"  You  won't  get  kicked  out,  as  you  call  it,  for  two 
years  at  least.     I  should  think  that's  good  enough." 

Humphrey  threw  a  glance  at  him.  He  was  stand- 
ing, looking  down  on  the  carpet,  with  his  hands  in  the 
pockets  of  his  jacket. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said,  looking  up  suddenly.  "  We've 
had  enough  of  this.  I  don't  think  you've  acted  straight, 
and  I  was  bound  to  say  so  before  I  said  anything  else. 
And  now  I've  said  it,  I've  said  it  for  the  last  time. 
Let's  forget  all  about  it.  We've  been  pretty  good  pals 
up  to  now,  and  there's  no  reason  why  we  shouldn't  go 
on  being  good  pals  up  to  the  end  of  the  chapter." 

Humphrey  sat  down  and  looked  into  the  fire.  "  Per- 
haps I  haven't  behaved  very  well,"  he  said  slowly.  "  It's 
precious  easy  to  behave  well  when  you've  got  every- 
thing you  want,  as  you've  always  had." 

"  It  may  be,"  said  Dick.  "  Anyhow,  you're  not  go- 
ing to  do  so  badly  now.  If  you  haven't  got  all  you 
want,  you'll  have  a  good  slice  of  it." 

There  was  silence  between  them  for  a  time,  and  then 
Humphrey  said,  "  If  you  don't  want  to  quarrel,  I'm 
hanged  if  I  do.  Only,  I  must  confess  I  feel  a  bit  sore. 
The  way  the  governor  swings  round  from  one  position 
to  another's  enough  to  make  anybody  sick.  You've 
had  a  dose  of  it  yourself ;  you  know  how  you  felt  be- 
fore you  made  it  up  with  him." 

Dick's  self-esteem  received  nourishment  from  the  rec- 
ollection that  he  had  not  behaved  in  the  same  way  as 
Humphrey  had,  but  he  did  not  bring  foi-ward  the  state- 


360  THE    ELDEST   SON 

ment  in  that  form.  "  It  was  awkward,"  he  admitted. 
"  It  made  him  think  of  doing  things  that  he'd  never 
thought  of  doing,  and  I  don't  think  he'd  any  right  to 
think  of  doing.  That's  why  I  haven't  the  shghtest  hesi- 
tation now  in  taking  back  whatever  he  may  have  made 
use  of  to  offer  to — to,  well,  let's  say  to  you,  as  a  means 
of  getting  his  own  way.  They  have  always  been  looked 
on  as  coming  to  me  eventually,  and  if  this  disturbance 
hadn't  come  about  nobody  would  have  thought  of  their 
being  disposed  of  in  any  other  way.  So  you're  really 
no  worse  off  than  you  were  before ;  in  fact,  you're  a 
good  deal  better  off,  and  I'm  quite  agreeable,  as  far 
as  it  rests  with  me,  that  you  should  be.  Can't  you 
manage  to  settle  it  with  yourself  that  what  you're  going 
to  have  is  as  much  as  you  could  have  expected,  and 
give  up  trying  for  the   rest?  " 

"  I  dare  say  I  can  manage  that  feat,"  said  Hum- 
phrey, "  especially  as  I  suppose  I've  got  to.  Still, 
when  you  look  at  it  all  round,  there's  a  good  deal  of 
difference  in  my  expectations  and  yours.  Two  thou- 
sand a  year  on  the  one  side,  and — well,  I  don't  know 
what,  but  say  ten  thousand  a  year  and  a  big  property 
on  the  other." 

"  Oh,  if  you're  going  to  kick  against  the  law  of 
primogeniture — !  "  said  Dick.  "  Question  is,  would 
you  kick  at  it  if  you  happened  to  be  the  eldest  son.'^  If 
not,  you  oughtn't  to  bring  it  in." 

Humphrey  was  silent.  They  had  been  talking 
quietly.  Hostility  had  gone  out  of  their  talk,  but 
friendliness  had  not  yet  come  in. 

Dick  seated  himself  and  began  again.  "  Perhaps  it 
isn't  for  me  to  say,  now  that  I've  got  everything  I 
want,  but  I  do  say  it  all  the  same,  because  I  found  it 
out  when  I  didn't  think  I  mas  going  to  have  everything 
I  wanted.  Money  isn't  everything.  If  you  have  as 
much  as  you  can  live  comfortably  on,  and  something 
to  do,  you've  just  as  much  chance  of  happiness  as  the 


BROTHERS  361 

next  fellow.  'Specially  if  you're  going  to  marry  the 
rierht  woman." 

"  I  dare  say  you're  right,"  said  Humphrey.  "  If 
you're  disappointed  of  something  you  can  always  fall 
back  on  philosophy.  But  it's  just  because  I  am  going 
to  marry  the  right  woman  that  I  am  disappointed.  I'd 
told  her  all  sorts  of  things,  and  she  was  as  ready  as 
I  was  to  chuck  the  fun  we've  both  had  in  London  and 
other  places,  and  settle  down  here  quietly." 

"  Well,  my  dear  good  chap  !  "  exclaimed  Dick.  "  If 
you  looked  upon  it  in  that  light,  what  on  earth  is 
there  to  grumble  at  if  you're  free  now  to  live  as  you 
like,  and  anywhere  you  like.^  I  don't  know  much  about 
your  young  woman,  but  I  should  imagine  she'd  rather 
settle  herself  in  London  on  a  couple  of  thousand  a  year, 
which  will  give  you  enough  to  go  about  with  too,  than 
bury  herself  down  here." 

"  I  don't  think  you  do  know  much  about  her,"  said 
Humphrey.  "  I  believe  the  general  opinion  here  is 
that  I'm  going  to  marry  her  without  knowing  much 
about  her  myself,  though  what  I  shall  gain  by  it,  con- 
sidering that  she  hasn't  got  a  sou,  isn't  quite  clear. 
However,  the  general  opinion  happens  to  be  wrong." 

Dick  felt  a  little  uncomfortable.  "  She's  the  one  girl 
in  the  world  for  you,  eh.^  "  he  said  lightlj^ 

"  That's  about  what  it  comes  to.  I  know  her  mother's 
a  fool;  and  she  suffers  by  it.  But  she's  quite  different 
herself,  and  I  know  what  a  jolly  good  sort  she  is,  if 
others  don't." 

Dick  was  touched.  Humphrey's  "  poor  thing  but 
mine  own  "  opinion  of  the  girl  he  was  going  to  marry 
was  so  different  from  the  pride  he  felt  in  Virginia. 
"  Well,  old  chap,"  he  said,  "  we'll  do  our  best  to  make 
her  feel  one  of  the  family.  We're  not  a  bad  lot,  take 
us  all  round,  and  if  she  wants  to,  I  dare  say  she'll  get 
to  like  us.  We  ought  to  be  able  to  have  some  fun  to- 
gether when  we  all  meet.     I  like  her  all  right — what 


36^  THE    ELDEST    SON 

I've  seen  of  her — and  now  things  have  been  more  or 
less  settled  up  I  should  like  to  see  more  of  her,  and  so 
would  Virginia.  I  believe  in  a  family  sticking  together, 
even  after  they  begin  to  marry  off,  and  new-comers 
ought  to  get  a  warm  welcome.  You've  been  very  decent 
to  Virginia,  and  she  likes  you;  and  I  should  like  to 
have  an  opportunity  of  ingratiating  myself  with 
Susan." 

Humphrey  was  conquered  by  this.  "  You're  a  jolly 
good  sort,  Dick,"  he  said.  "  I  didn't  know  you  were 
going  to  behave  like  that,  or  perhaps  I  wouldn't  have 
behaved  as  I  have  done.  I'm  not  proud  of  myself,  ex- 
actly, now  I  look  back  on  it,  and  if  you'll  forget  all 
about  it,  as  you  said  you  were  ready  to  do,  I'll  chuck 
the  whole  beastly  business,  and  we'll  go  back  to  where 
we  used  to  be." 

"  There  won't  be  any  difficulty  about  that,  old  boy," 
said  Dick.  "  Peace  and  goodwill  is  all  /  want,  and  we 
may  as  well  have  it  all  round." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

MISS    BIRD    HEARS    ALL.    ABOUT    IT 

The  twins  were  meeting  a  train,  but  the  train  was  late. 
They  walked  up  and  down  the  platform,  by  the  side  of 
which  the  station-master's  arabis  and  aubrietia,  prim- 
roses and  daffodils,  were  making  a  fine  show.  It  was 
the  Thursday  before  Easter,  which  Miss  Bird  was  com- 
ing to  spend  at  Kencote,  Miss  Phipp  having  already 
departed  for  a  week  in  lovely  Lucerne;  and  the  twins, 
out  of  the  innumerable  trains  they  had  met,  had  never 
met  one  with  greater  pleasure.  They  had  spent  an 
arduous  term  with  Miss  Phipp,  with  whom  they  had 
established  relations  amicable  on  the  whole,  but  not 
marked  by  the  affection  they  had  felt  for  Miss  Bird; 
and  although  they  had  rather  liked  working  hard,  they 
had  had  enough  of  it  for  the  present,  and  enough  of 
Miss  Phipp. 

"  I  wish  the  train  would  hurry  up.  I  do  want  to  see 
the  sweet  old  lamb,"  said  Joan.  "  Let's  ask  Mr.  Belper 
when  it's  coming." 

The  station-master,  jovially  respectful,  told  them 
that  she  was  signalled,  and  they  wouldn't  have  long  to 
wait. 

"  But  I  think  3^ou  ought  to  see  that  your  trains  are 
up  to  time,"  said  Nancy.  "  Didn't  you  learn  at  school 
that  punctuality  was  a  virtue  ?  " 

"  Ah !  I  see  you  want  to  have  one  of  your  jokes  with 
me,  miss,"  said  the  station-master.  "  I  don't  know 
what  it's  about,  but,  bless  you,  have  your  laugh.  I 
like  to  see  young  ladies  enjoying  themselves." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Joan.  "  But  there's 
nothing  to  laugh  at  in  a  train  being  always  unpunctual. 


364  THE    ELDEST    SON 

We  want  very  much  to  sec  Miss  Bird,  who  is  coming, 
and  you  keep  her  on  the  line  somewhere  between  here 
and  Ganton.  You  ought  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf,  and 
see  that  people  don't  get  disappointed  like  that." 

"  Well,  it  isn't  my  fault,  miss,  and  here  she  comes," 
said  M.r,  Belper,  snatching  up  a  metal  instrument  in 
shape  something  between  a  sceptre  and  a  door-scraper 
and  hurrying  up  the  platform,  as  the  engine  fussed  up 
the  last  incline  and  snorted  itself  to  rest. 

Miss  Bird — diminutive,  excited,  voluble — cast  herself 
out  of  her  carriage  and  into  the  arms  of  the  twins,  who 
gave  vent  to  their  affection  in  a  series  of  embraces  that 
left  her  breathless  and  crumpled,  but  blissfully  happy. 
"  That  will  do  Joan  'n'  Nancy  for  the  present,"  she 
said.  "  Let  me  get  my  things  out  and  then  we  can  have 
a  nice  long  talk.  Oh  dear  to  find  myself  at  Kencote 
again  it  is  almost  too  good  to  be  true  the  umbrella  on 
the  rack  porter  and  the  hat-box  my  precious  pets  how 
you  have  grown  a  brown  box  with  '  E.  B.'  in  the  van 
and  that  is  all.  How  do  you  do  Mr.  Belper  you  see 
1  have  come  back  again  once  more  like  a  bad  penny  as 
they  say  and  how  is  Mrs.  Clinton  darlings  and  your 
father  and  all  I  have  such  a  lot  to  hear  that  I'm  sure 
we  shall  never  leave  off  talking  until  I  go  away  again." 

"  Precious  lamb !  "  said  Joan  tenderly.  "  You  won't 
leave  off  talking,  and  I  could  listen  to  you  for  ever,  like 
the  brook.     You're  such  a  relief  after  Pipp." 

"  We  didn't  know  when  we  were  well  off,"  said  Nancy. 
"  We  often  lie  awake  at  night  and  cry  for  you." 

They  were  now  walking  towards  the  booking-office. 
"  But  surely  INIiss  Phipp  isn't  cruel  to  3^ou  my  pets 
Mrs.  Clinton  would  never  allow  that  oh  my  ticket  Mr. 
Belper  now  I  know  I  put  it  somewhere  here  it  is  in  my 
bag  and  I  give  up  this  half  and  retain  the  other,  good- 
afternoon  ah  to  see  those  nice  horses  again  it  is  like 
coming  home  indeed  I  have  not  ridden  in  a  private  car- 
riage since  I  left  Kencote.     Good-afternoon  William  J 


MISS     BIRD    HEARS   ALL  365 

see  you  are  still  here  and  promoted  to  the  box  one  more 
of  the  old  faces." 

Thus  expressing  her  pleasure,  Miss  Bird  got  into  the 
carriage  and  the  twins  after  her,  and  they  drove 
off. 

"  Well  my  pets,"  she  began,  "  let  me  take  a  good 
look  at  you  many's  the  time  I've  longed  to  set  eyes  on 
you,  and  you  have  not  altered  at  all  just  a  trifle  pale 
I  do  hope  that  you  have  not  been  working  too  hard." 

Joan  and  Nancy  exchanged  glances,  and  then  heaved 
a  simultaneous  sigh.  They  acted  habitually  so  much 
in  accord  that  the  acceptance  of  an  idea  striking  them 
simultaneously  could  be  indicated  by  a  look.  "  You 
were  often  unkind  to  us.  Starling  darling,"  said  Joan 
plaintively,  "  although  we've  quite  forgiven  you  for  it ; 
but  in  your  most  headstrong  moments  you  were  never 
actually  cruel." 

"  Don't  cry,  Joan,"  said  Nancy.  "  We  have  nearly 
three  weeks'  holiday,  and  with  Starhng  here  we  shall 
be  able  to  forget  everything,  and  be  as  happy  as  pos- 
sible." 

Miss  Bird's  face  showed  perplexed  horror.  "  But 
surely  it  isn't  possible "  she  began. 

Nancy  interrupted  her.  "  I  don't  mind  so  much  for 
myself,  because  I'm  not  so  tender-hearted  as  eJoan  and 
don't  feel  things  so  much,  and — oh.  Starling  darling, 
please  don't  press  that  arm." 

She  winced  realistically,  and  Joan  took  her  up 
immediately. 

"  Nancy,  I  wonder  if  there's  time  to  get  long  sleeves 
put  into  our  frocks  for  to-night.  Mother  will  ask  what 
the  marks  are,  and  we  cant  tell  her  a  lie,  and  if  we  tell 

her  the  truth Oh,  Starling  darling,  do?i't  go  away 

from  us  again.  We  can't  bear  it  any  more;"  and  she 
wept  audibly  on  Miss  Bird's  inadequate  shoulder. 

Miss  Bird  was  too  overcome  for  the  moment  to  give 
words  to  her  horror,  but  she  put  her  arm  round  Joanj, 


366  THE   ELDEST   SON 

who  winced  in  her  turn,  and  said,  "  Not  that  shoulder," 
through  her  convulsive  sobs. 

"  Don't  be  silly,  Joan,"  said  Nancy  firmly.  "  William 
will  wonder  what  is  the  matter,  and  you  know  what 
you  will  get  if  you  let  it  out.  Starling  darling,  you 
won't  say  anything  to  anybody,  will  you?  It  will  be 
much  worse  for  us  if  you  do,  and  after  all  when  a  bruise 
gets  blue  and  green  it  doesn't  hurt  so  very  much." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  she  beats  you  ? "  ex- 
claimed Miss  Bird,  her  eyebrows  almost  up  to  her  hat- 
brim.  "  Then  I  shall  go  at  once  to  Mrs.  Clinton  the 
moment  I  get  into  the  house  and  tell  her  that " 

Joan  threw  her  arms  round  her  neck  and  laughed. 
"  Angel  lamb ! "  she  said,  "  it's  too  bad  to  tease  her. 
She's  just  as  green  and  sweet  as  ever." 

"  Oh,  why  do  you  spoil  everything.'' "  exclaimed 
Nancy.  Then  she  too  relented  and  added  her  embraces 
to  Joan's.  "  Oh,  you're  too  priceless,"  she  said.  "  Are 
you  really  glad  to  see  us  again  ?  " 

"  Well  I  suppose  I  must  not  be  angry  and  I  know 
your  naughty  ways  too  well,"  said  Miss  Bird,  "  but 
you  gave  me  quite  a  turn  and  I  suppose  really  Miss 
Phipp  is  all  she  should  be  and  you  love  her  very  much 
as  you  ought  to  do  and  it  is  only  natural  that  those 
who  are  near  should  take  the  place  of  those  who  are 
far." 

"  I  believe  she's  really  disappointed  that  Pipp  doesn't 
beat  us  black  and  blue,"  said  Joan.  "  But  she'll  never 
take  your  place.  Starling,  my  own.  You're  the  one 
and  only.  I  suppose  you  know  we're  aunts  again. 
Walter  and  Muriel  have  got  a  boy." 

"  A  boy  !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Bird,  enraptured.  "  Now 
that  is  good  news  and  how  delighted  your  father  will 
be  the  pet  how  I  should  like  to  see  him." 

"  Starling  darling,''  expostulated  Nancy.  "  You 
will  see  him  directly,  but  father  won't  like  your  calling 
him  a  pet." 


MISS    BIRD    HEARS    ALL  367 

Miss  Bird  blushed.  "  You  know  very  well  I  should 
say  no  such  thing,  Nancy,"  she  said ;  "  it  was  the  baby 
I  meant  if  you  repeat  that  untruth  in  the  house  I  shall 
go  straight  back  where  I  came  from." 

The  twins  laughed.  "  Isn't  she  pathetic  and 
cherubic.'^"  said  Joan.  *' We  haven't  seen  him  yet, 
though  we're  going  to  to-morrow.  He  was  only  born 
yesterday.     We'll  take  you  over." 

"Isn't  everybody  very  pleased.'^"  asked  Miss  Bird, 
meaning  by  "  everybody  "  the  Squire,  but  not  liking  to 
mention  his  name  again. 

"  We  are,"  replied  Joan,  "  and  so  is  mother.  Fa- 
ther isn't  quite  certain  about  it,  although  he  is  glad 
that  he  was  born  at  Mountfield — at  the  Lodge,  you 
know — instead  of  at  Melbury  Park.  Unless  Dick  or 
Humphrey  have  sons  he'll  succeed  to  the  property,  you 
see,  and  it  is  very  important  that  he  should  be  touched 
by  nothing  common  or  unclean.  •  We've  got  such  a  lot 
to  tell  you — all  about  the  weddings  and  the  rows. 
Everything  is  made  up  now,  but  we've  had  the  very  deuce 
of  a  time  since  you  left." 

"  Now,  Joan,"  said  Miss  Bird  shai-ply,  "  if  you  talk 
like  that  I  shall  be  sorry  I  came  and  I  am  sure  Miss 
Phipp  would  be  very  angry  you  must  act  while  she  is 
away  as  if  she  were  present,  here  we  are  and  I  declare 
there  is  dear  Mrs.  Clinton  at  the  door  how  pleased  I 
am  to  see  her  once  more  oh  it  is  almost  too  much." 
And  she  began  waving  her  hand  and  bobbing  up  and 
down  and  saying,  "  Oh  how  do  you  do  how  do  you  do," 
until  the  carriage  drew  up  under  the  porch,  when  she 
hopped  out  of  it  and  received  a  greeting  from  Mrs. 
Clinton  which  put  the  seal  on  her  happiness. 

The  Squire  came  out  of  his  room  as  they  were  going 
into  the  morning-room.  "  Why,  Miss  Bird !  "  he  ex- 
claimed heartily,  "  here's  a  sight  for  sore  eyes  !  How 
de  do.  Miss  Bird,  how  de  do!  'Pon  my  word,  it  looks 
so  natural  to  see  you  here  that  I  wonder  we  ever  al- 


368  THE    ELDEST   SON 

lowed  you  to  go.  We've  got  a  very  learned  lady  in  your 
place,  and  a  dangerously  attractive  one,  by  George — 
ha,  ha ! — but  we  don't  forget  you.  Miss  Bird,  and  we 
often  wish  you  were  back  again." 

Now  could  anything  have  been  handsomer  than  this ! 
as  Miss  Bird  asked  of  her  sister  when  she  went  back 
home  again.  From  such  a  man  too !  who  had  so  many 
important  things  and  people  to  think  of. 

"  I'm  sure  Mr.  Clinton  all  your  kindness  I  never  shall 
forget  and  never  can  forget,"  she  began ;  but  Joan  and 
Nancy  stopped  her  by  pushing  her  into  a  chair,  and 
the  Squire  laughed  and  said,  "  They  don't  play  tricks 
like  that  with  Miss  Phipp,  the  young  monkeys  !  How 
do  you  think  they're  looking.  Miss  Bird?  Pretty  good 
specimens  for  Kencote  air,  eh?  Well,  I  suppose  you've 
heard  all  our  news — Dick  married,  and  Humphrey  go- 
ing to  be.  You've  never  seen  Mrs.  Dick,  I  think;  she 
was  after  your  time." 

"  No  but  she  wrote  me  the  kindest  possible  letter 
Mr.  Clinton  when  I  sent  a  small  gift  to  Dick  and  there 
was  really  no  necessity  for  anybody  to  write  but  Dick 
wrote  at  once  and  she  wrote  too  and  said  she  should 
hope  to  see  me  soon  which  touched  me  very  deeply  and 
made  me  feel  that  I  knew  her  though  I  had  never  seen 
her." 

"  Ah,  yes,"  said  the  Squire  complacently ;  "  she 
thinks  of  everybody  and  identifies  herself  with  all  Dick's 
interests,  and  you're  not  the  least  of  them.  Miss  Bird. 
You'll  see  her  to-night,  for  they're  dining  here,  and  if 
you  don't  take  to  her  out  of  hand.  Miss  Bird,  I  shall 
be  very  much  surprised.  We're  all  in  love  with  her 
here — eh,  children?  " 

"  Rather !  "  said  the  twins  in  one  breath ;  and  Mrs. 
Clinton  said,  "  They  are  at  the  dower-house  for  a  week 
or  two.  Dick  is  looking  after  some  other  properties, 
but  he  has  arranged  it  so  that  it  does  not  take  up  all 
his  time.     They  live  chiefly  in  Yox^kshire,  but  they  will 


MISS    BIRD    HEARS   ALL  369 

be  able  to  live  at  the  dower-house  for  a  week  or  two 
every  now  and  tlicn,  and  by  and  by  we  hope  that  they 
will  be  able  to  live  there  altogether." 

"And  where  is  Humphrey  going  to  live?"  enquired 
Miss  Bird,  who  had  gathered  certain  facts  from  her 
correspondence  with  the  twins,  and  had  no  wish  to  be 
indiscreet,  but  did  wish  to  know. 

"  Oh,  he'll  settle  down  in  London,"  said  the  Squire. 
"  It  will  suit  him  and  Lady  Susan  better ;  and  he's  get- 
ting on  well  with  his  work  and  has  to  be  near  it,"  and 
Miss  Bird  was  too  discreet  to  indicate  that  she  had 
heard  that  he  had  been  going  to  give  up  his  work. 

"  We  hope  that  they  will  come  here  often,"  said 
Mrs.  Clinton.  "  The  idea  was  that  they  should  go  to 
the  dower-house  when  Dick  and  Virginia  didn't  want  it, 
but  there  is  plenty  of  room  here,  as  you  know,  and  they 
chose  not  to  have  the  responsibility  of  another  house." 

Miss  Bird  was  well  posted  in  the  general  hang  of 
family  affairs  when  she  presently  went  upstairs  with 
the  twins,  but  it  remained  for  them  to  enlighten  her 
on  the  events  that  had  led  up  to  the  existing  state  of 
things. 

They  took  her  to  her  old  room,  which  had  been  in 
the  occupancy  of  Miss  Phipp.  "  We  told  mother  we 
were  sure  you  would  like  to  sleep  here,"  said  Joan,  "  and 
we've  cleared  all  her  things  out,  and  made  it  just  like  it 
used  to  be  for  you." 

"  Darlings !  "  said  Miss  Bird.  "  It  will  be  like  old 
times  and  I  shall  scarcely  be  able  to  sleep  for  happi- 
ness oh,  look  at  the  daffodils  under  the  trees." 

"  We  didn't  think  you'd  want  to  be  bothered  up  with 
her  books,"  said  Nancy,  "  so  we've  put  the  ones  you 
like  instead.  The  Pilgrim's  Progress  and  Longfellow 
and  The  Wide,  Wide  World.  You'll  be  able  to  cry 
over  that  to-morrow  before  you  get  up." 

Miss  Bird  was  nearly  overcome  again  by  these 
thoughtful  preparations  for  her  happiness.     "  Now  I'll 


370  THE    ELDEST    SON 

just  take  off  my  things  pets  and  then  we'll  have  a  cosy 
time  in  the  schoolroom  I'm  so  looking  forward  to  see- 
ing it  again  you  go  and  take  off  your  things  too  and 
I'll  come  in  a  minute." 

"  If  you  would  like  to  look  through  her  photo- 
graphs," said  Nancy,  as  they  were  leaving  the  room, 
"they're  all  in  this  drawer;  but  they're  not  very  inter- 
esting. Hullo,  here's  Hannah — always  on  the  spot 
when  she  isn't  wanted,  and  never  there  when  she  is." 

"  Indeed,  Miss  Nancy,"  said  Hannah,  "  and  I  sup- 
pose I  may  come  and  see  Miss  Bird  without  stepping 
out  of  my  place,  which  unwilling  I  should  be  to  do, 
and  Miss  Bird  always  treating  me  as  a  perfect  lady, 
and  very  pleased  all  are  to  see  her  back  again,  high 
and  low." 

"  You  treat  her  as  a  perfect  lady.  Starling  darling, 
for  a  minute  while  we  go  and  take  our  things  off," 
said  Nancy,  "  and  try  and  persuade  her  to  do  her  work 
better,  or  she'll  have  to  go." 

Hannah  was  left  indignantly  spluttering  something 
about  working  her  fingers  to  the  bone  and  getting  small 
thanks  for  it,  while  Miss  Bird  soothed  her  rufHed  spirits, 
and  told  her  that  if  she  didn't  know  how  to  put  up  with 
her  young  ladies'  nonsense  by  this  time  she  wasn't  as 
sensible  as  she  had  thought,  but  she  was  delighted  to 
see  her  again,  and  was  sure  that  she  was  doing  her  duty 
as  she  always  had  done  it. 

A  little  later  she  was  sitting  between  the  twins  on  the 
schoolroom  sofa,  having  duly  expressed  her  rapture  at 
finding  herself  once  more  in  that  dear  old  room. 

"  Now  we'll  tell  you  all  about  everything,"  began 
Joan.  "  You  heard  father  say  how  much  he  liked  Vir- 
ginia, didn't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Bird,  "  and  Mrs.  Clinton  too  and 
very  pleasant  it  is  when  some  one  comes  into  a  family 
to  be  welcomed  so  lovmgly  and  I  hope  you  and  Nancy 
are  equally  fond  of  her  Joan  for  I  am  sure  she  de- 


MISS    BIRD    HEARS   ALL  371 

serves  it  so  kind  and  considerate  as  she  has  shown  her< 
self." 

"  We  adore  her,"  said  Nancy.  "  It  is  very  easy  for 
people  to  make  us  like  them  if  they  take  a  little  trouble. 
We  are  very  simple-minded." 

"  It's  a  question  of  chocolates  judiciously  adminis- 
tered," said  Joan.  "  But  we  could  do  without  them 
from  her,  because  we  like  her  immensely.  Well,  you'd 
hardly  believe,  from  the  way.  father  talked,  that  he 
threatened  to  cut  Dick  off  with  a  shilling  if  he  married 
her,  would  you  ?  " 

"  Now  Joan  I  don't  want  to  listen  to  any  nonsense," 
said  Miss  Bird.  "  You  have  taken  me  in  once  this  even- 
ing and  let  that  be  enough." 

"  But,  Starling  darling,  it's  true.  It  wasn't  till  she 
saved  his  life  out  hunting  that  he  would  put  up  with 
her  at  all.  Of  course,  now  he  thinks  he  always  liked 
her,  but  that's  what  he  is." 

"  I  don't  wish  to  hear  any  more  of  that  tell  me  about 
the  wedding,"  said  Miss  Bird. 

"  Well,  if  you  won't  believe  it,  you  won't,"  said 
Nancy.  "  And  it  doesn't  much  matter  now,  because 
it  is  all  over,  and  we  are  a  united  family  once  more; 
but  you  have  no  idea  of  the  trouble  Joan  and  I  had 
with  them  all.  Except  mother,  we  were  the  only  ones 
who  kept  our  heads." 

"  At  one  time  " — Joan  took  up  the  tale — "  Hum- 
phrey was  going  to  be  put  in  to  lord  it  over  us,  and 
sweet  Sue  Clinton ;  but  directly  Dick  turned  up  and 
took  father  in  hand  we  didn't  hear  any  more  about 
that,  and  they  are  going  to  have  a  scrumptious 
flat  in  town,  and  we  are  going  up,  one  at  a  time,  to 
stay  with  them,  because  they  only  have  one  spare 
room." 

"  Sue  isn't  bad,"  said  Nancy.  "  We  didn't  care  for 
her  at  first,  but  she's  got  a  horrible  old  painted  dragon 
of  a  mother,  and  when  she's  away  from  her  she's  quite 


Sn  THE   ELDEST   SON 

decent,  and  I  dare  say  we  shall  be  able  to  make  some- 
thing of  her." 

"  Now  I  don't  want  to  hear  any  more  gossip  about 
people  Joan  'n'  Nancy,"  said  Miss  Bird,  "  tell  me  about 
Dick's  wedding." 

"  Ivory  satin,"  said  Joan,  "  with  sable  hats  and  stoles 
and  muffs,  which  Dick  gave  us,  and  shower  bouquets 
of  violets.     We  were  the  admired  of  all  beholders." 

"  Toby  Dexter  acted  as  sort  of  best  man  to  Vir- 
,ginia,"  said  Nancy.  "  She's  up  in  Yorkshire  now,  keep- 
ing  the   house  warm   for  them." 

The  twins  gave  the  rest  of  their  news  in  alternate 
sentences. 

"  Cousin  Humphrey  gave  Virginia  away.  He  was 
very  sweet,  and  made  a  lot  of  jokes  afterwards." 

"  It  was  a  very  quiet  wedding — at  Blaythorn.  Uncle 
Tom  married  them,  and  made  several  mistakes  in  the 
service.  I  suppose  he  was  overcome.  Humphrey  was 
Dick's  best  man.  They  hadn't  been  very  good  friends 
at  one  time,  but  they  had  made  it  up,  and  now  they 
like  each  other  very  much." 

"  We  only  had  relations  staying  here  for  the  wed- 
ding, except  Mr.  Spence,  Dick's  friend,  whose  property 
he  is  looking  after.  He  was  such  fun.  We  simply 
loved  him.  He  used  to  roar  at  all  our  jokes,  especially 
at  Nancy's  rhapsodies,  and  we  egged  him  on  to  make 
love  to  Miss  Phipp." 

"  She  was  immensely  flattered.  She  said  he  was  a 
true  gentleman,  and  when  we  told  him  we  thought  he'd 
have  had  a  fit." 

"  He  didn't  really  make  love  to  her.  He  was  too 
kind.  He  used  to  pay  her  a  lot  of  attention,  and  asked 
her  to  teach  him  to  spell." 

"  He  wrote  us  a  letter  when  he'd  gone  back  and  spelt 
appearance  with  one  '  p.'  " 

"  And  other  mistakes  too.     But  we  did  adore  him." 

"  Old  Mr.  Marsh  was  at  the  wedding.     We  think  he 


MISS    BIRD    HExVRS   ALL  373 

proposed  to  Toby  Dexter  afterwards,  but  she  would 
never  tell  us.     He  drank  too  much  champagne." 

"  Now  Nanc}^  you  are  not  to  say  things  like  that," 
said  Miss  Bird,  quite  in  her  old  authoritative  manner. 

Nancy  embraced  her  warmly.  "  You're  too  sweet  for 
words,"  she  said.  "  Uncle  Herbert  and  Aunt  Emme- 
line  and  Angela  came.  Angela  is  going  to  be  married 
in  June  at  Holy  Trinity,  Sloane  Street,  and  we're  to 
be  bridesmaids ;  and  to  sweet  Sue  Clinton,  too,  at  St. 
George's,  Hanover  Square.  Our  portraits  will  be  in 
the  papers,  and  we'll  send  you  copies.  We  shall  be 
much   admired." 

"  Uncle  Herbert  was  very  angelic.  He  talked  about 
Ibsen  to  Miss  Phipp,  and  when  she  found  out  that  he 
had  been  a  Liberal  member  of  Parliament  she  almost 
wept  for  joy.  We  didn't  know  she  was  a  Radical  be- 
fore, but  if  Uncle  Herbert  was  one,  they  can't  be  as 
bad  as  father  makes  out." 

"  She's  a  suffragette  too,  but  she  has  never  been 
able  to  answer  father's  question,  '  Who  would  cook  the 
dinner  on  polling-day.^  '  " 

"  Well,  she's  answered  it,  but  father  won't  listen  to 
her." 

"  Aunt  Laura  is  ill.  We'll  take  you  to  see  her  to- 
morrow.     She  made  us  promise  to." 

"  Oh  dear  Miss  Clinton,"  broke  in  Miss  Bird,  "  I  do 
hope  it  is  nothing  serious." 

"  She's  very  old.  She  can't  live  much  longer,  I'm 
afraid.  She  remembers  the  Battle  of  Trafalgar,  or  the 
Crimean  War — I  forget  which." 

They  talked  for  some  time  longer,  and  when  Miss 
Bird  went  to  her  room  to  dress  for  dinner  it  was  with 
a  heart  full  of  thankfulness  to  find  herself  still  so  much 
beloved,  and  with  a  lively  curiosity  as  to  what  Virginia 
would  be  like  when  she  should  presently  meet  her. 

She  and  the  twins  were  together  in  the  morning- 
room  when  Dick  and  Virginia  arrived.     While  the  twins 


374  THE   ELDEST   SON 

were  throwing  themselves  upon  Virginia,  Dick  came 
forward  grinning  and  gave  her  a  resounding  kiss  on 
either  cheek.  "  There,  old  lady,"  he  said.  "  That's 
what  jou  deserve  and  what  you'll  get  from  me  now 
I'm  married.     Virginia,  come  and  do  likewise." 

Miss  Bird,  once  more,  was  overcome  almost  to  the 
point  of  tears.  "  I'm  sure  this  is  a  very  happy  day 
for  me,"  she  twittered,  but  could  get  no  further. 

"  They're  all  happy  days  for  all  of  us,"  said  Vir- 
ginia, who  looked  radiant,  and  not  much  older  than 
her  young  sisters-in-law.  "  The  twins  are  to  bring  you 
down  to  see  me  early  to-morrow  morning,  when  Dick 
is  out.  I  want  to  hear  all  about  him  when  he  was  a 
little  boy,  and  I'm  sure  a  very  naughty  one." 

"  Oh  indeed,"  said  Miss  Bird ;  "  he  was  high-spirited 
but  as  for  naughtiness  what  I  call  real  naughtiness  no 
child   could   have  been   freer   from  it." 

"  If  you  think  you're  going  to  get  anything  against 
me  out  of  Miss  Bird,  you  may  save  yourself  the  trouble 
and  enquire  elsewhere,"  said  Dick.  "  She  thinks  there 
was  never  such  a  family  as  the  Clintons,  don't  you, 
Starling.?  " 

"  I  think  they're  rather  nice  too,"  said  Virginia,  with 
her  hands  on  the  shoulders  of  Joan  and  Nancy  and  her 
eyes  on  Dick. 

The  Squire  coming  in  at  this  moment  with  Mrs.  Clin- 
ton greeted  Virginia  as  if  she  were  his  daughter,  and 
it  being  on  the  stroke  of  eight  immediately  led  her  in 
to  dinner.  He  was  in  the  best  of  spirits,  and  talked 
and  laughed,  during  the  whole  of  the  meal,  in  his  old, 
rather  boisterous  fashion.  Gone  were  the  moody  si- 
lences and  the  frowning  perplexity  of  a  few  months 
back.  He  had  not,  apparently,  a  care  in  the  world, 
and,  with  his  healthy,  rubicund  visage,  and  active, 
though  massive  form,  looked  as  if  he  were  prepared  to 
enjoy  the  good  things  with  which  his  life  was  filled  for 
a  further  indefinite  number  of  years. 


MISS    BIRD    HEARS   ALL  375 

There  was  only  one  little  shadow  of  a  cloud.  As  he 
got  into  bed  that  night,  he  said,  "  I'm  very  glad  you 
asked  old  Miss  Bird  here,  Nina.  She's  a  faithful  old 
soul,  and  it  does  me  good  to  see  her  about  the  place. 
She  seems  to  belong  to  it,  and  it  brings  us  back  to  where 
we  were  before  all  this  infernal  worry  came  to  us." 

"  We  are  better  oif  than  we  were  then,"  said  Mrs. 
Clinton,  "  for  you  were  worrying  about  Dick  getting 
married,  and  now  his  marriage  has  come  about  and  you 
need  worry  over  it  no  longer." 

"  Ah,  3'es,"  said  the  Squire.  "  I  remember  I  did  say 
something  to  you,  and  to  him  too,  just  before  he  sprang 
it  on  us — what  was  in  his  mind.  If  I  had  known  Vir- 
ginia then  it  would  have  saved  us  months  of  bother. 
I've  never  quite  forgiven  Dick  for  not  introducing  me 
to  her  at  first.  I  should  have  given  way  at  once,  of 
course.  However,  we  needn't  think  about  that  now ; 
but  now  this  little  chap  of  Walter's  has  come — I  must 
go  over  and  have  a  look  at  him  to-morrow — it  does 
make  me  wish  that  w^e  were  in  the  way  of  looking  for- 
ward to  a  son  of  Dick's.     I  suppose,  Nina " 

"  There  is  plenty  of  time  to  hope  for  that,"  said 
Mrs.  Clinton. 

"  I  suppose  there  is,  and  we  mustn't  be  impatient. 
Still,  I  shan't  be  quite  easy  in  my  mind  about  the  suc- 
cession until  there  are  children  at  the  dower-house. 
However,  the  matter  is  in  higher  hands  than  ours,  and 
there's  never  failed  an  heir  to  Kencote  yet.  How  long 
was  Virginia  married  before.^  " 

"  Seven  years,  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Clinton. 

"  Ah,  well,  if  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst,  there's 
a  boy  Clinton  sleeping  over  at  Mountfield  now,  and  we 
must  put  up  with  our  disappointment.  Good-night, 
Nina.     God  bless  you !  " 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


MAY  1  2  1948 


LD  21-100m-9,'47(A5702sl6)476 


tpc 


^._J, 


4GG558 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  UBRARY 


WrMm^^. 


